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TWO WHITE SLAVES; 


OR 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


A TALE OF THE POWER OF VIRTUE OVER DISHONOR 


By JAMES S.^PEACOCKE, Esq. 



PHILADELPHIA 

COLUMBIAN PUBLISHING COMPANY 
35 North Tenth Street. 

1890 




Copyright 

By COLUMBIAN PUBLISHING CO. 
1890. 


> '} 


TWO WHITE SLAVES. 


CHAPTER I. 

TT was morning in the tropics ; a bright and sunnj 
^ day in Kingston. The soft breeze came sweeping 
across the bay, and wafted the -Scent of a thousand 
beds of flowers toward the city, till the very air 
seemed heavy with aromatic softness. The crowd was 
moving with characteristic laziness along the awning- 
covered street, and the cafes and restaurants were 
receiving their daily influx of visitors, of many na- 
tions and languages. 

Among them might be observed a noble-looking 
gentleman, who, sauntering quietly along, and appar- 
ently without any other especial object than to kill 
time, turned into one of those gorgeously fitted-up 
saloons which are most frequented by the English and 
Americans. 

Giving himself up to the favorite habit of so many 
of our countrymen, he threw himself into a large arm- 
chair, of which there were many standing about on 
the nicely-sanded floor, and turned his inquiring gaze 
around. There were many like himself seated, silently 
smoking, and, to all appearance, having no more to (h 


4 


THE CREOLE OBPHAKS. 


tlian he. The attentive waiter suddenly came toward 
him and handed him the morning paper. He was 
soon absorbed in its contents. Rapidly his eye 
o-lanced over its columns, and he was about to throw 
it aside, when the following notice attracted his atten- 
tion. It was at the end of an auction advertisement. 

There will also be sold, at the same time and place, % 
beautiful Quadroon girl of sixteen years. She is a superior 
sempstress and hair-dresser P 

“ I will go and see this paragon,” he exclaimed, as 
he laid down the sheet ; and, rising, he walked to the 
door with a wearied air. 

Eleven o’clock, and the commercial Exchange. Its 
capacious rooms were the daily resort of the man of 
business and the man of leisure, of tliose who had 
property to dispose of, and those who wished to be- 
come purchasers. Here was the meeting-place ; here 
were the sales of slaves and other valuable property ; 
the distribution of siiccessions, and the receptacle of 
news from all parts of the world. The individual, 
whom we have noticed, entered the doors of the build- 
ing with the throng and cast his eyes around. The 
sale of landed property had commenced, but he 
heeded it slightly. At length the slaves were put up 
for sale. This attracted him but little. The auctioned 
paused. 

“ Now, gentlemen,” he exclaimed, “ here we have 
something to bid on ; a nice parcel of goods, and such 
a one as you don’t get every daJ^ Come, hand her 
up I A beautiful Quadroon girl, fit for a lady’s maid, 
or traveling companion. Ha ! ha ! Who will bid r 
Who wonU bid ? Here she is,” he added, as he re- 
ceived, from a dark aperture behind the stand, the light 
ibrm of a female, who was shoved violently forward 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


5 


by some unseen hand. She was clothed in a plain 
black dress, and, as she advanced, was evidently weep- 
ing violently, with her hice hidden in her hands. The 
vendor ordered her to look up. She obeyed him with 
a shudder, and gazed around. She was young and 
fair, but pale ; and her eyes were sw^ollen with weeping. 
Pallid and tottering, she stood before the multitude, 
who hushed their conversation, struck by her exceed- 
ing beauty. Another moment, and a universal mur- 
mur arose from the assembly, as they looked upon her 
in wonder and curiosity. Siie trembled violently, and 
then her countenance exhibited the most intense men- 
tal anguish, as she' stood the inspection of the crowd 
of upturned faces ; and several times she seemed on 
the point of crying out with concealed agony. 

Surprise rooted the multitude to the spot; they 
knew’ not what to think ; yet there was the owner, a 
heavy, thickset man, with a ferocious countenance and 
a glaring eye, which seemed to exercise a basilisk 
influence over the poor girl, who, every now and 
then, stole a glance of terror toward him. She was 
unlike a slave ; yet there was her master, (she did not 
deny him), the vendor; and, above all, there was the 
pure, rich olive complexion of the quadroon. She is a 
slave, and is here for sale, for she denies it not. Yet she 
is lighter in color than the Indian Quadroons. Still 
she is a slave. Bids were now tendered, reservedly at 
first, but they increased in spirit until the competition 
became general. The amount increased until it was 
enormous. The poor girl turned a supplicating look 
around ; her eyes met those of our friend, who had 
been drawn up to the stand by the excitement. That 
look told a tale of sadness ; it struck his heart, and he 
gazed at her with pity, and bid on her again ; and 


S THE CKEOLE ORPHANS. 

again was the sum increased, and still he bravely 
stood there bidding on. At length the offers dropped 
off, and he and a low, wrinkled debauchee were the 
sole competitors. A few more passes, and a smile of 
scorn curled his lip, as he saw the look of anxiety in 
the face of his antagonist give place to one of deep 
and intense hatred and rage as he gave in, and surren- 
dered, while the prize was knocked down to his an- 
tagonist. The stranger stepped to the office, and re 
ceived the young girl as she staggered and fell into 
his arms. She had fainted ; and, as he bore her out, 
the clink of the gold he had paid sounded louder than 
the din of human voices. 

A few weeks saw the fair young slave placed on 
l>oard a packet bound for the city of New Oileans. 


CHAPTER II. 


rpO one of those quaintly-fashioned houses, away 
down in the heart of the first municipality in New 
Orleans, and built long ago in old Spanish times, I 
beg the reader to accompany me. 

We approach the house. It stands in a recess, back 
from the street, and, up the columns of the portico, is 
a perfect wilderness of cypress and rnadeira vinos. 

We ascend the ancient steps composed of the marble 
of France, and pause at the dark, old door. At the 
summons of the lion-headed knockor, which seems to 
have stood the storms of a century, the door opens 
and we are at once admitted. To the right is the 
parlor, and this room we invite the reader also to enter. 

This apartment was furnished in a sumptuous man- 
ner. It was large and spacious. A rich carpet 
covered the floor, .and the dark, heavy furniture was 
of an antique pattern and after the style of Louis Six- 
teenth. A French piano was the only modern article 
in the room. A massive gilt cornice and an elaborately 
carved center-piece gave a finished and beautiful effect 
to the whole. The walls were ornamented with 
several very fine paintings. One, a landscape by 
Claude Lorraine; one by Teniers; a young girl by 
Kubens, and a copy of Michael Angelo’s Virgin and 
child. This collection, with a number of antique 
statuettes on the mantle, au4 a b^t of Napoleon, ex- 


8 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


hibited in the occupants of this mansion a refined and 
exalted taste. There were many richly bound volumes 
also scattered about. 

Turn we now to the person who was seated in a 
massive oak chair, near the glowing fire. The even- 
ing was cool, for it was late in the season ; and the 
flame danced merrily up the chimney, and roared and 
crackled as the coal split and burst into fragments, 
emitting jets of bright gas, darting hither and thither 
as if in glee. He was, as we have said, seated in a 
large chair leaning back ; his feet stretched out on a 
stool — the very personification of ease and comfort. 
He held in his hand a newspaper, and around him 
strewing the floor were many more, some half opened, 
and others wrapped up as if just received, while others 
were wide open, as if hastily glanced at, and then care- 
lessly thrown aside. The fragrance of a Havana cigar 
filled the room, and the pale blue smoke curled gently 
over his head. There was nothing remarkable in the 
appearance of the individual. He seemed about forty 
years of age. A high and intellectual brow, a straight 
nose of the true Grecian style, and an oval face, dis- 
tinguished him as a very handsome man, whde the 
thick curly chestnut locks around his white forehead 
gave a manly cast to his countenance. He had dark 
hazel eyes, which gleamed softly and pensively, as he 
lifted them from the paper and, ever and anon, gazed 
intently in the fire. As he thus looked steadily, a 
quiet smile of contentment played around his lips, 
which were full and finely chiseled. But you could 
see that there was a cast about his mouth and chin, 
which seemed to denote a want of firmness of purpose. 
He was in stature, over the middle height, and nobly 
and elegantly formed. But there was an expression 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


9 


hich stamped the whole features and denotea a mind 
satisfied with itself and the world. 

It may be that our readers do not recognize the 
stranger of the cafe of Kingston, the purchaser of 
the Quadroon girl ; but it was he. Charles Ormond, for 
such was his name, was a man who had lived to the 
age of forty, and never made an enemy. He was an 
easy, quiet person, who never troubled himself about the 
aifairs of his neighbors ; nay, not even his own affairs ; 
but it seemed as if fortune smiled on him, and blessed 
the even tenor of his way/’ for, if he did not add to 
his large property, he held his own and enjoyed life 
to its full. He had many years previously come to 
the South from Maryland with his father, who died, 
leaving his son a valuable plantation and a large force 
of negroes on the Mississippi river in Louisiana. 

Colonel Ormond (for he held a Colonel’s commission 
in the militia) divided his time between his residence 
in the city and his plantation, on which he lived during 
the rolling season. He was a bachelor. An aflair of 
the heart many years before with a Creole girl stifled 
his energy and killed his matrimonial aspirations, and 
he never found sufficient courage to replace the ideal 
with the real. 

He remained for some minutes in the comfortable 
position in which w’e have found him, and then, start- 
ing from his reverie suddenly, he took from the mantle 
a small bell, and gently rung it. 

In reply to the summons, a servant appeared bear* 
ing lights, and, closing the shutters, proceeded to ar- 
range the tea table with two seats. As the table was 
drawn up to the fire and a light Indian bamboo chair 
placed at its side. Colonel Ormond seemed to 1)6 
ai'oused by the sound of a singularly sweet voice from 


10 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


the adjoining room, and, in a moment more, a li, ht 
footstep pressed the soft carpet by his side. His eyes 
lighted up with a smile of pleasure, as he glanced 
around and his gaze fell upon the form of a beautiful 
woman, of some twenty-five or six years of age. 

She was of that clear, olive complexion, which, ab 
though it plainly told that she might have a tinge of 
African blood, yet also showed that it was far re- 
moved. Her form was of that voluptuous, flowing 
mould, whose every action is grace, and it expressed the 
deep, yet hidden fires, which burned within a shrine 
as pure as a vestal’s. Her eyes were large and dazzling, 
and as ebon as her hair, which w^as braided simply 
around a smooth brow and ornamented with a single 
moss-rose. Her features were regular and classic. As 
she entered the room, a smile illuminated her beauti- 
ful face and showed her pearly teeth. She advanced 
to Colonel Ormond; and, sinking on the stool, gazed 
a moment at him, and then threw her arms around his 
neck. He leaned over, pressed her beautiful head to 
his breast and imprinted many kisses on her brow and 
lips. She leaned across his knee — 

“ Ah ! Ormond,” she said, “ I have a terrible quarrel 
for you.” 

What now?” he laughingly replied. 

‘‘Did you not promise me when you left after din- 
ner, that you would return at once ? But you had to 
go up town, and in some snug little corner you had 
your wine and cigar, and a quiet game of chess.” 

“ Well, Marie,” he answered, “ I must plead guilty ; 
what is the punishment?” 

‘ Well let me see, I must deprive you of your wine 
for a whole week.” 

“ r submit ; but now let me a-sk you — how do you 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


11 


find the city, after so long a sojourn on the planta- 
tion ?” 

“ Oh ! Charles, I hate a city life, and you know it; 
1 love the country ; but, when you are with me, I even 
love the city more.” 

‘‘ You are a flatterer, Marie,” he said, playfullj’’ tap 
ping her cheek with a folded newspaper. 

‘‘ But I have long determined not to keep up two 
establishments ; -we will sell the house in town, and 
then we will live altogether in the country.” 

“ Oh ! I should be so glad,” she replied enthusiasti- 
cally. ‘‘ I will then take a pleasure in domestic affairs, 
I will attend to the poultry and dairy and garden.” 

‘‘ Oh ! yes, love in a cottage ; but you forget — where 
are Zoe and Estelle.” 

She smiled rapturously at the mention of those 
names, and darted from the room. 

He gazed after her a moment, sighed and shook his 
head. Beautiful creature !” he said, ‘^you are a treas- 
ure to any man. Why should I hesitate a moment 
longer in giving you my name, when you have so l(,)ng 
had my heart you, who are so good, so pure and so 
kind to all ? The law will not sanction a marriage in 
Louisiana, yet for your sake should I seek another state : 
yet — ^yet, the feeling. That dark tinge from Africa— 
can it be so, a Quadroon ! As to the sin of living so 
in this pseudo-marital manner — that is for churchmen 
to decide. - There are many who do it. It is custom, 
and custom calls it honorable. Yet I owe it to h(;r ; 
to her whose heart is as warm as the sunbeams of her 
own bright isle. I owe it to my children, the cherubs 
with their soft warm smile, and happy laugh, and lov- 
ing kiss. I owe it to them, and I ’ll do them justice 
at any rate. Well, well — I’ll think of it ; I love Ma 


12 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS 


rietriilv'j for licr noble gratitude and triu; vvomaidy 
kindness; yet I bad tbouglit my heart would ever re- 
bel against such a sentiment as love.’' Here he sigheil, 
as reminiscences of “ lang syne” came across his mem- 
ory; and he soon ’relapsed into his former musings. 
And now while our scene is thus disposed, we will en- 
ter into an explanation and make a portion of the fol- 
lowing story more plain to the reader. 

Marie St. Valle was a native of the island of Mar- 
tinique. She told Ormond that she was a Quadroon^ 
and that her father was a French officer, who was sta- 
tioned and died at Port Eoyal of yellow fever. It 
was said that she was a slave^ and, after tlie death of 
her protector, she came into the possession of a relative 
of his, who, knowing the relation they bore to each 
other, never urged his claim of ownership with the 
remainder of the property ; but suffered her to retain 
it and act as if she were regularly emancipated. 

Marie’s mother, at the instigation of her friends, now 
sent her to Paris to be educated at a convent. 

She was at that time but six years of age. Here 
she remained until she was ten, when her mother de- 
termined to remove to Paris and left Martinique to 
visit France. When some two weeks at sea, the ves- 
sel was wrecked, and poor little Marie was an orphan 
with no one to protect her, no friend to guide her foot- 
steps in a world, set with snares for one so young and 
Innocent. 

This was the story which Ormond had ever believed 
as told by Marie ; and she repeated it from the lips of 
an old woman who claimed her as an aunt after her 
return to Martinique. 

When the news of the loss of the vessel, which 
reached Martinique in due time, was known, the reput- 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 18 

ed aunt, a Quadroon, who resided on the island, at 
once removed Marie to her home. 

As time passed, three were many admirers of the 
jouDg and beautiful girl, and, among them, several 
young men of wealth on the island. There was also 
an Englishman, who was said to be a merchant in Ja- 
maica — but whom others boldly stated to be a pirate, 
or little better — who came, with a young and lovely 
wife, to reside in the town of Port Royal. They became 
acquainted with Marie, and, struck by her beauty and 
apparent artlessness, showed a great many kindnesses 
to her. This gained the heart of her old aunt, who 
readily consented that Marie should accompany Cap 
tain Berwick and his wife, on a visit to his estate in 
Jamaica. They sailed, and upon their arrival, she was 
offered as a slave at a mart in Kingston. 

Here she attracted the attention of our friend Colonel 
Ormond, who was on a visit to the West Indies. Her 
appearance, and the contradictory tale told by Berwick 
called his notice to her forcibly, and, after a few inqui- 
ries, he became her purchaser for a large sum. 

And thus we find her, after living ten years with 
him, the acknowledged mistress of his household, and 
still a slavp.^ and by him as well as herself believed to 
be a Quadroon. 

During all this period, they had lived together as 
man and wife. She had by her beauty and goodness 
so insensibly won her way to his heart that he loved 
her devotedly. Hot indeed with that refined and sen- 
timental love, which poets in their moon-struck fancies 
prate about, but with that warm and generous passion 
such as children of the tropics feel. Ormond did not 
indeed at first dream of making her his wife, but, as 
ye<ars ilev/ by, and the graces of her mind and the 


14 


THE CREOLE ORTTIANS. 


nobleness of her soul were brought into action, and as 
she became the mother of two darling children, he be 
gan to seriously reflect upon it, and ultimately determ- 
ined to consummate the matter by giving her his name. 
Ele had delayed it thus far. When brought to the test, 
tliere was in his mind a shrinking reluctance, which 
he did not even confess to himself, of mingling his 
name and lineage with one in whose veins the burning 
tide of Africa flowed. Then there was a feeling of 
delicacy in bringing the affair before the public, and 
laying his household gods open to the vulgar gaze. 
But now he determined to surmount all this, and 
make the amende honorable. 

Thus we find him, and it is but justice to say that 
such had long been his earnest intention. 

It was after the lapse of a few minutes, that laugh- 
ing, silvery voices were heard, and the patter of hasty 
little feet, and Marie appeared, followed by the chil- 
dren, who, as soon as they had entered the room, ut- 
tered the word Papa,” and rushed to greet with ca- 
resses one who was ever delighted to receive them, and 
whose face beamed with pleasure, as he noted their af- 
fectionate earnestness. He smiled and pressed them to 
his heart, as they climbed upon his knee, and he list- 
ened and smiled again, at their childish prattle. Marie 
stood near ; a tear of delight was in her eye, as she 
gazed, with all a fond mother’s pride, at the objects 
wliich engrossed so much of her affections. 

Colonel Ormond passed his arms around them, and, 
thus encircled, he leaned back and gazed at the enchant- 
ing fairies. Zoe, the elder, was ten years of age ; Estelle 
tVv O years her junior. Zoe was of that rich, deep tint 
which is emblematical of a mixed blood ; but her fine 
transparent skin showed the blue veins, through which 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


15 


coursed an ardent tide. Her features were regular, 
and her dark eye the same as her mother’s. She was 
of a reserved, yet proud disposition, and extremely 
sensitive. Estelle, whose style of beauty was similar, 
had a lighter complexion. Her eye was soft and 
beaming as a gazelle’s, but resembled her father’s. She 
was wild, credulous and enthusiastic, and more viva- 
cious than Zoe. 

The evening meal was announced, and the family 
partook of it. When old Sylvia, the nurse, entered 
and bore off the children to bed, Marie remained. 

Colonel Ormond drew forth a chess-board, and, 
having lighted a fresh cigar, invited her to play. 
When they had been thus engaged a half hour, 
there was a pause in the game. Marie looked up. 

Ormond, sa.id she, do you know what I have 
been thinking of to-day ?” 

“ No,” he replied, smiling, and making a move on 
the board. “ But doubtless you have been studying 
out some new pattern for a cape, or have invented 
a new mode of dressing the hair.” 

Something more serious than that.” 

“ Well.” 

“ Charles, you know that our children are now 
growing up without education ; and I have thought 
tliat we should try and place them at school.” 

‘‘ That is what I have often considered.” 

“ Well, I have thought of a plan.” 

What is it ?” 

To-day Monsieur Cirall^ was here with Madaiao 
fci-'.oT are going to return to France to live.” 

‘‘Indeed !” 

He wishes to return. And nov/ for ]ny pTO]V»«i- 
tioii. I^et us send the children to Baris, in the Con 


18 


THE CHEOLE ORPHANS. 


vent of Mercy they will find a home, and in deal 
mother St. Clare a parent.” 

“ Marie this is sudden,” said Ormond, thoughtfully. 
“ It requires reflection. There are schools nearer ’ 

‘'Charles, I know what you would say,” ,<he re- 
plied, interrupting him. “ I have reflected on this. It 
is a terrible thing to send away such young children ; 
but, Charles, you know the pain, the humiliation, to 
have a slight put upon them on account of their de- 
scent. Oh ! I know, I can feel this. No ! we will 
not place them where those prejudices exist.” 

“ Your observations are just, Marie,” he said ; but 
the sacrifice is great.” 

“ Oh ! Charles, you little know the sacrifices a lov- 
ing mother can make, the pangs she can endure, and 
the agony she can suffer for those she loves. 1 can, 
and am willing to place them from under my care.” 

“ Well, Marie, they must be placed somewhere; and 
yet I dislike to act. Procrastination is one of my 
greatest faults. I am too indolent, and some day it 
will be my ruin. What do you propose?” 

“ To send them with good Madame Ciralle ; she 
will place them in the convent.” 

“ Will you speak to her about it ?” 

“ Yes. and I know she will be delighted. She h.^s 
no children of her own, and in Paris she can so often 
visit them.” 

“ It is a good idea, Marie, as all 3'Our ideas are,” iie 
replied, affectionately pressing her hand. 

Charles, it is a great trial ; and yet it is for their 
good. The idea of separation from them is almost 
death ; but they will be kindly treated, and habits of 
industry will be taught them. But oh !” she continued 
with vehemence, “ if they go, and. Charles, 3"ou wore 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


17 


to be taken from me — ah ! and even I, too, might die 

- their fate ” She shuddered, and the pallor of 

death overspread her countenance. ‘‘ Ah ! they would 
have no friend. Their mother’s fate, despair! death ! — 
the slave auction ! — shame, and ruin ! Ah ! but there 
u> there must be a God, and He would not suffer that.” 

The blood flushed over Ormond’s brow, as he ten- 
d(vrly drew her toward him ; for she trembled convuls- 
i\udy with excitement, and this was a subject which 
always caused her extreme agitation. ‘‘ Come, Marie,” 
ho tenderly said, “ compose yourself. There is no 
fenr of that. You know that I have no near relations, 
and those I have are far away among the frozen 
mountains of New England. The children will have 
all I possess.” 

‘‘I know it, Charles; I know it; and I feel all a 
woman can feel — how deeply and how tenderly I love 
you.” 

“ I believe you, Marie, I believe you ; and you 
know, Marie, how 1 prize you.” 

“ Oh ! Charles, a man can never feel the strength of a 
woman’s love. Oh ! you are dearer to me than others, 
or than you otherwise would be. Did you not buy me 
from slavery — ay, worse than slavery ? Have you not 
rescued me from sharae, and raised me up to your own 
condition ? And has your voice ever sounded harshly 
in my ears ? Never ! Ah 1 Charles, I love you, I adojo 
you.” And here she fell on his breast again, and wept 
violently. 

Come, Marie, come — do not let such scenes of 
horror trouble your mind. They are like the stormy 
wind passing through the strings of a harp ; they 
produce notes of discord and sorrow. Come, my love, 
Oiily summer winas, light and gentle, should \ji4^ 


18 


THE CKEOLE ORPHANS. 


tLrougli youv harp, and call fortb. sweet sounds, sudi 
as you delight me with. Come, you shall play lor 
me. Comer’ He arose, and led her gently to a 
piano ; and as slie struck the keys, he leaned over her, 
and drank in the rich and silvery sweetness of her 
voice. “You have improved much, Marie,” he said, 
as she arose after she had finished, “and have well 
profited by Ciralle’s lessons.” 

She smiled with a gratified air, and leaned her head . 
on him as he led her back to her seat. 

“ And now that your mind is composed, let us sit 
and talk awhile.” 

“Well, Charles,” she replied, “will you be angry 
if I say something to you ?” 

“Surely not, Marie; no subject is forbidden to you; 
but I see by your gravity that it is another one of my 
bins of omission.” 

“ Charles, I can not reproach you ; but you know, 
according to law, I am still in bondage.” 

“ True, true, Marie ; and there is another sin of ten 
years’ standing; and I assure you that there has not 
been a single week during the past year that I have 
not intended to act in the matter. But,” continued 
he, “ you know the cause, Marie. It is a shrinking, a 
repugnance to make an expose of our situation. Still 
it must be done.” 

“ That is all, Charles, and I am sure you will negle ct 
it no longer.” 

“Doubt it not, Marie; but what, let me ask, mak<.>fl 
you think of such things to-night?” 

“ I scarce know why it is, but there has a most singular 
thing happened to me. The other day, as I was un- 
packing some bulbs which had been put up last season, 
my eye caught a line on the paper cover — I paused 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


19 


and read it, it was a leaf of an old law-book — - 
one sentence most particularly attracted my notice; 
but you are laughing at me.” 

‘‘ No, no, proceed ; you quite interest me.” 

‘‘Well, it ran thus — it was headed, ‘Las siete Par- 
tidas. The children who are born of a free moM and 
a slave are themselves slaves^ as they follow the oo7uiitum 
of the mother ” 

^ “Well.” 

“ And it went on, and gave the law of descent, and 
stated that illegitimate children could not inherit prop- 
erty which was the father’s.” 

“ Well, that is all true — the leaf, which you acci- 
dentally came across, is a portion of our old Spanish 
law, but do not be uneasy, Marie — maybe the thing 
was intended by Providence to hasten me on to action 
in this matter.” 

“ Oh, Charles, I feel no fear so long as we both shall 
live, but our God only has the knowledge when we 
shall die. Consider if it were soon or suddenly, the 
situation of our children.” 

“ You represent your case in a strong light, Marie ; 
but I hope no such event will happen soon.” 

“ God avert it ; but we are in His hands.” 

“ Most true, Marie. If I were to reason with you, I 
might be persuaded within the pale of the Church.” 

“ Charles, do you know that I am a httle inclined to 
be superstitious?” 

“ Can I doubt it, when you believe in signs ?” 

“Nay,” she added, playfully; “do not begin with 
ridicule.” 

“ Well, proceed.” 

“ Do 3 ^ou remember old Celeste, who died at the 
plantation last summer?” 

“ Yes, I do, and think before she died she used 


20 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


about tliree gallons of my best brandy to keep her 
‘ sperits* up, as she said.” 

“ Well, I had been very kind to her, and about an 
hour before she died, she called me close to her side. 
She had, you know, been a priestess or conjuror, or 
something of the kind in her own country. ‘ Missis,’ 
she said, ‘ you has been mighty kind to the poor old 
creetur, and I must give you the warnin before I 
leave.’ She gazed at me long and earnestly. At 
length she said, ‘ Child, I am going soon, but listen to 
the words of an old woman who loves you. Your 
eye is bright, and the plow of grief has not been over 
your brow yet; it is smooth — the current of your life 
flows calmly, but there are hidden quicksands below. 
Now turn your eyes to where the cold north wind 
comes from, then and there will come that cold wind 
to blight your soul and wither it up. Yet stay,’ she 
quickly said, ‘there may be a different fate — you 
may sleep upon a cold pillow before that — I see a 
cross line in your hand ;’ (she had taken my hand a 
moment before) ; ‘ 3^our children may feel the blight ; 
but it will come. I tell you to warn you, not for 
spite.’ She died very soon after, having, at her 
request, been lifted up to see the sun set.” 

“Pshaw! nonsense,” cried Ormond, laughing heartily ; 
“ why, old Celeste, your Pythoness, had been in her 
dotage for five years previous to her death.” 

“ Oh, may be so,” replied Marie, “ but her words 
always had a great effect upon me. Did you never 
observe that, from the most common negro language, 
slie would branch off, and her conversation even 
become eloquent and fervid?” 

“Yes, that was for effect — she was naturally intel- 
ligent — but come, you are tired, and to-morrow we 
will go to the plantation.” 


CHAPTER II I • 


“All, in a reverend row, 

Their gray-haired grandsires, sitting in the sun 
Before :he gate, and leaning on their staff. 

The well-rernembered stories of their youth 
Recount, and shake their aged locks with joy.” 


rpHE morning came, fair and balmy. The pojmlation 
^ of the portion of the city, in which Colonel Or- 
mond resided, were not then, nor are they now, remark- 
able for early rising. 

While the Americanized portion of the metropolis 
began to resound to the noise, confusion and bustle 
incident to a commercial port, this part was almost 
buried in silence. 

It was about ten o’clock that Colonel Ormond, 
Marie, and the children, who, furnished with shawls, 
and, stowed among carpet-bags and band-boxes, ac- 
companied by old Sylvia, the nurse, stepped into a 
carriage in waiting, and were rolled down to the good 
steamer “ Baton Eouge,” then lying at the levee, 
ready to leave for Bayou Sara and the coast — which 
trip then generally occupied two days and nights. 

Among the passengers there were many different 
characters. There was the Northerner returning home^ 
well posted up as to the “ Slavery Question ” in the 
South ; the green country boy who had been to the 
city for the first time, and the old sugar planter, 
who was hobnobbing with the up land cotton planter 
at the bar. 


22 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


There were many of Colonel Ormond’s acquaint- 
ances on board, and he formed many new ones. 

By one of his friends, he was introduced to a North- 
ern gentleman by the name of Hartley. With this 
person he was peculiarly struck from the first. He 
was a tall, handsome man, with a pleasing expression 
of countenance, and an upright bearing. He had been 
sent by one of the Northern banks on business, and 
his present destination, in furtherance of his object, was 
a small river town. He was much pleased with Colo 
nel Ormond. It was his first visit to the South, and 
lie exhibited much concern in the planting interest, in- 
asmuch as, having been bred among people that hold 
that Slavery is a crime, he was surprised to find erro- 
neous the views which he had imbibed regarding it. 
He was a thorough-bred and educated gentleman 
Colonel Ormond was amused at the earnestness, with 
which he propounded the most absurd questions in re- 
gard to the negroes, and at the queries he put to over- 
seers on the plantations where the boat stopped. 

After some further conversation with him, Ormond at 
length gave him an invitation to visit him at his plant- 
ation. This was done partly because he learned that 
Hartley’s object was the purchase of a large amount of 
stock in a city bank in which he was himself a stock- 
holder. 

The invitation was gratefully accepted. 

It was a placid Sabbath evening as the steamer 
neared Colonel Ormond’s landing, and, as her massive 
bell tolled out its deep sound, she slackened her head- 
way, and approached the shore. What a sight was 
there to give the lie to the foul calumnies of the North- 
ern agitator I 

Tlie family residence, built like many others on the 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


23 


coast, was after the olden French style.’^ It was sap 
ported on brick pillars ; and a large and spacious por- 
tico ran around it. Those old Frenchmen, how wise 
they were ! They studied the sanitary rules of arclu- 
tecture instead of leaving their dwellings squaf and 
flat on the ground, where no circulation of air could 
be had, and where they got the full benelit of all the 
unhealthy emanations of a soil, composed of the very 
elements of malaria. They elevated their houses 
high, had tight floors, wide galleries, and a free cur- 
rent of pure, dry air. The roof ran up very steep and 
was crowned by a cupola, surrounded with a heavy 
balustrade. The yard was ornamented with that pride 
of the south, the live-oak, which afforded a grateful 
shade during the summer heat. 

Then there was to the rear and left a dense grove of 
orange, which ran along by the garden fence. The 
garden itself was tastefully laid out in plots, and boast- 
ed a fine collection of horticultural treasures. Out- 
side of the yard, and beyond the garden, was the Quar- 
ter for the negroes. The houses ran in four equal 
rows, at angles from the river. In the midst was the 
overseer’s house, which, like the rest, was brilliant with 
a new cqat of whitewash ; and the whole were buried 
in a little forest of Ohina-trees. At one corner of the 
“ quarter” yard was the hospital^ where the sick daily re- 
ceived the attentions of a skillful ph3^sician, and were 
well nursed by an old negress who gloried in the title 
of “ Grumbling Sally.” 

Near the overseer’s house hung a massive bell, at the 
summons of which, the labors of the day w’ere com^ 
menced and ended. 

Beyond the Quarter were the negroes’ gardens and 
chicken-houses. The stables and corn-houses could 


24 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


bo seen through the trees further back; while the tall 
chimneys of the sugar-house overlooked the whole. 

It was indeed a scene of beauty and good order. 
The steamer landed our party ; crowds of negroes of 
all ages, sexes and colors, came thronging to meet 
them ; smiling and glad faces were all around, eager 
and clamorous to bid a welcome to a kind and indulg- 
ent master. Mr. Hartley accompanied the family to 
the house. He had seen enough in his brief inter- 
course with the South, to appreciate how gross was 
the misrepresentation, how foul and ungenerous the 
slanders, which had been dinned into his ears from 
his infancy. He had been taught to look upon the 
slaveholder as a kind of half- human monster, with no 
feeling, nor sentiment of refinement in his composition. 
And the life of the slave, a dull and continued round 
of suffering, an eternal groan of agony ; with no ray 
of comfort, and no kind word to cheer thankless la- 
bor from year to year. He therefore had been taught 
hatred of the system as one of the cardinal virtues. 
33ut Mr. Hartley was a man of observation ; he did 
not allow cradle doctrine to influence him in his opin- 
ions. He saw before him a sample of the South, a na- 
tive picture, not flattered or got up for effect, he saw 
the slaves in their every-day life, a happy, contented, 
and careless race ; well fed as their looks testified ; well 
lodged and not over-tasked ; and he at once mentally 
drew the comparison between the negroes and their 
happy condition, and the starved laborer of the North. 
He saw the slave well taken care of, and comprehend- 
ed that it would be so, if not from philanthropy, at 
least for the sake of their available labor. He then 
turned his thoughts to the North. He called to mind 
the thousand families, wiio, pale and attenuated by 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


25 


want and sickness, are shut up in their narrow, filthy 
dens ; where vice and depravity stalk abroad, and the 
wretched inmates live and die, in a state lower than 
the brutes of the earth ; where murder rears its 
bloody front, and incest, and crimes too horrible for 
even the police officers^ gt^ze, are as frequent as the 
revolutions of our planet; and he cursed mentally the 
bigoted fanatics, who delight in creating feuds between 
pc‘>ple, who should be on terms of amity. 

L’olonel Ormond, late in the evenings invited Mr. 
Hartley to a stroll through the Quarter. They passed 
to the front and entered the yard. Groups of negroes 
were scattered around in different attitudes. Tliere 
were seated, on a bench under the trees, some two or 
three older ones, whose patriarchal appearance and 
gray locks attracted immediate notice. 

Around them was a group of younger ones, who 
eagerly listened to the conversation of their seniors. 

There were another set stretched at full length on 
the green grass ; happy, and unconscious of the deep 
degradation of their situation. There was a troop of 
noisy children, -who stopped their gam.bols on the grass 
to crowd around the stranger and their master, who 
to please them spoke kindly to them. Bursts of 
laughter went forth from them when they replied to 
his questions. They seemed delighted at his notice ; 
but exhibited none of that fright which would be 
shown by those, with whom kindness was not usual. 
They came around — a merry grinning troop ; they ex- 
amined Mr. Hartley’s dress, and handled his watch 
chain without fear or hesitation. At the doors of 
Borne of the houses, were seen sitting the inmates quiet- 
ly smoking their pipes, while ever and anon a snatch 
of a hymn would issue from the tenements of the pious. 


26 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


All were free from care and happy in the possession 
of enough. 

As Mr. Hartley turned and gazed over the scene, 
he thought he had never seen a more interesting spec- 
tacle. The deep respect paid to their master, as they 
returned to the house ; the combined sounds at this 
lovely hour; the pale blue smoke from the chimneys, 
as the negroes prepared their evening meal — all 
formed a picturesque impression which he never forgot. 

One character presented himself, who deserves men- 
tioil. He \y as called old Uncle Pierre. He had been, 
when a child, brought from Congo. He was a middle- 
sized old man about fifty years of age, and evidently 
considered himself a privileged favorite. He had a 
great passion for putting on pompous airs ; speaking to 
the other negroes with a tone of authority, and using 
big words, which he generally put in the wrong place. 
He came up, and, after making his best bow, informed 
his master how careful he had been during his absence, 
and lauded himself very highly. He was kept about 
the garden and yard, and attended to his master’s 
house, a kind of '‘boy” of all work. But of Pierre 
anon. Colonel Ormond gave him a kind word, and 
they returned to the house and to the evening meal. 


CHAPTER ly. 


“Vincit Veritas.” 

T?OR a few days nothing of interest transpired. Mr. 
^ Hartley remained a great portion of the time in 
the house. Marie he treated with the greatest court- 
esy. He talked with the children, and laughed heartily 
at the gambols of the little negroes. He rode with 
Colonel Ormond or played chess in the evening; or he 
would steal out alone on the river bank and muse on 
his northern home, as he gazed over the cold dull 
water. He listened to old Pierre’s stories with atten- 
tion, and then coolly informed him that he believed 
every word of them. In fact he had rendered himself 
a general favorite in a short time. 

“ Mr. Hartley,” said Colonel Ormond to him one 
morning after breakfast ; “ come with me into the 
Quarter. I want you to see the way our negroes are 
treated with regard to comfort, food and sickness. 

“ Here,” he continued as they stopped before the 
door of the hospital, “ let us enter.” It was a square 
building of two rooms, with a sm.all gallery in front. 
One room was destined for the males, and the other 
for the opposite sex. Every thing was scrupulously 
neat and clean. In the male department there were 
three patients. They were on cots, a number of which 
were placed around the room. Colonel Ormond went 
up to each one. He inquired after their ailments, 
and, after making some gentle remark, turned and en- 


28 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


tered the other room. Here were also several patients. 
The dispensary was in this room, and fully supplied 
with medicines. 

Colonel Ormond now rang a small bell, and old 
‘‘ grumbling Sally’' answered the summons. She was 
a thin, s])are negress, with an erect figure and an intel- 
ligent countenance. “She is the nurse of the hos- 
pital,” remarked he, “and can undertake the care of a 
common case, as well as some physicians. She under- 
stands all the simple medicines and their doses, and is 
always within hearing of the bell.” 

After making a few remarks to her, they left the 
ouilding. 

“ That is a precious old boon,” said Colonel Ormond, 
“and would amuse 3^ou by her originalities; she has 
no faith in the regular doctors, except my family phy- 
sician, Dr. Grant, and imagines that the doctor and she 
have more real knowledge than all the faculty beside 
She is never satisfied, however, and hence she is known 
by the name of ‘ grumbling Sally.’ ” 

Scarcely had he said this, ere they heard her shrill 
voice in full blast at a number of little negroes, who 
were at some of their pranks. The gentlemen next 
entered several of the houses. These were furnished 
very plainly, but cleanly. A bed in the corner, and 
perhaps two, clothes hanging on pegs around the room, 
a pine table and a few chairs made on the place, to- 
gether with chests and a plentiful supply of cooking 
utensils completed the list — and what would they w^ant 
more ? 

“ How do you feed them ?” asked Mr. Hartley. 

“ On Sunday morning the overseer goes to the meat- 
house, and there assembles the negroes; four pounds 
of j.)ork are weighed out to each one * and they get a 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


29 


peck of meal, a half gallon of molasses, beans, sweet 
potatoes and vegetables, which they raise themselves. 
They are allowed to raise chickens and always have a 
supply of eggs.” 

“ What time do they go to work?” 

“ At daylight, and stop at sundown, re-^t two to 
three hours during the middle of the day, but have 
nearly every Saturday afternoon and evening to wash 
and mend, and cultivate their patches. On Sunday 
they either go to church or remain at home, as may 
please them. They always have a week after the 
grinding season is over.” 

“ The negroes look clean ; is it true they have only 
two pair of pantaloons a year ?” 

Oh ! that,” laughed Colonel Ormond, is another 
of the Abolition sayings. 1 give my negroes three 
and sometimes four suits a year from head to foot, but 
generally they gi^e only two suits a year.” 

“Have they no amusements?” 

“Often they have a dance of a moonlight night; for 
there are several fiddlers, and then we give them a big 
dinner occasionally ; but, my dear sir — you must not 
imagine that I personally attend to all this; my over- 
seer takes charge of these things ; I give general orders, 
and that is enough.” 

“ You do not punish often ?” 

“Seldom; my overseer is a good manager, and 
when he does punish it is done effectually ; but it is 
seldom a negro is struck.” 

“ They are a happy set,” remarked Mr. Hartley, 
“ and I am undeceived.” 

“ Ah I if all our Northern brethren could come and 
witness the truth, a great change would take place in 
their judgments,” 


30 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


“ I am gratified beyond measure,” be replied. “1 
had been led to bcdieve that the life of the slave was 
horrible; that the chain of slavery galled their bodies; 
that the lash of the overseer was never idle ; that not 
one ray of hope broke through the dark horizon of 
their life. But I find that I, with thousands, have been 
deluded, and that the imaginary chain sits as lightly 
as a golden one on the bosom of beauty. And 1 now 
say unhesitatingly, that the life of the negro at the 
South is many times better than that of the lower 
-working clascs at the North.” 

“I have no means of judging.” 

‘‘ Ah ! colonel, but I have. 1 have seen the oppres- 
sion of the rich over the poor, the grinding exaction, 
tlie unfeeling disregard of any thing but money.” 

“ Well, they will learn wisdom probably.” 

Just then they were passing by the hospital, and 
heard the tones of ‘‘ old Sally ;” they were hid behind 
the projection of the porch. She was rattling away at 
a terrible rate at the abuses, which, in her opinion, re- 
quired correcting. They listened to her a moment 
and then walked on, thus breaking off the conversa^ 
tion regarding slavery, which pleased Colonel Ormond, 
for he really disliked discussions on the subject. 

They stopped at the stable. Old Pierre was there 
superintending the operation of drenching a horse. 

Now, you ignorent nigger,” he said ; ‘‘you com- 
mences dis way ; you ties his head up at a angle of 
forty- five degrees, and den he takes it like a lamb. 
Poor fellow ; now dat ’s his way. Bar, it ’s gone down 
in his diajram now. Come, Jim, git up and ride him 
around. Dat ’s one of massa’s best horses.” Here he 
turned and, suddenly seeing the gentlemen, he be- 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


31 


came very active ; but, in showing his activity, he dis- 
played his situation — lie was tolerably drunk. 

Well, Pierre,” said the colonel, “ you have made 
a mistake, I see. You, instead of the horse, have taken 
the whisky .’■ 

‘‘ Well, master,” replied he, grinning, “I almost be- 
gin to be feered I is. But dat was a mistake on my 
part, sah.” 

“ Yes, so I see,” replied the colonel ; “ that is your 
besetting sin, Pierre. Go to your cabin.” 

Massa, if you stop one minute, I toll you how it 
was. You see, I had de drench in one hand, and some 
vrater in de other, an — •” 

They turned away, leaving Pierre to finish at his 
leisure. 

It was night ; but Ormond and Mr. Hartley sat in 
the gallery, enjoying their cigars. Mr. Hartley had 
. that evening been taking a general round of the plant- 
ation. 

“Weil, colonel,” he said, “I have been this even- 
ing to the back of the plantation, and had a long 
walJc ; and I have been favored with the company of 
Pierre on my return.” 

“ Pierre considers himself a privileged character — a 
sort of patriarch of the Quarter ; he talks more and 
does less than any one on the place.” 

“ He causes me to laugh often at his big words, 
which he generally misuses ridiculously.” 

“ He stretches the long bow, you observe ?” 

“Yes; his exploits are many and wonderful.” 

. “But there is a peculiarity about him, which you 
may not have discovered.” 

“ What is that ?” 

“ His love of whiskj ” 


32 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


Indeed ?” 

“Yes; but it is the failing of the race, and more 
particularly of his tribe.” 

“ What is it?” 

“ Pierre is a Zamho, the most miserable and de- 
graded race we have ; selfish, cunning and thieving, 
[t is almost impossible to attach them to you by kind- 
ness, so as to be secure from their treachery. But he 
is better than his race generally, and Pierre is not de- 
void of some points of good sense. He is exceedingly 
shrewd, and one would not discover it at first. I have 
seen his countenance change in a moment from a look 
of intelligence to one of almost apparent idiocy ; but 
it is only when he has some end of his own to serve.” 

“ Well, Pierre has been giving me a description of 
a lake near here, where he says one may have rorn;. 
sport, fishing.” 

“ That much is true, Mr. Hartley ; and if you say 
so, I will have some provisions put up; and, if you 
will go down the bayou to the lake, I will ride over, 
get two friends, and join you at — sa^'' twelve o’clock/' 

“ Could you not accompany me ?” 

“ I have an engagement until ten ; but you may 
confidently look for us. I will make a servant put up 
something, and you can take Pierre and Flora t, — one 
for fish, and the other for game. Take a gun along, 
and my word for it, your visit will be repaid.” 

“ I should like much indeed to go ; but who is this 
Florat?” 

“ He is a yellow Creole boy, about thirteen years old. 
Ho knows every turn in the swamp, every crook in 
the bayou, and every hole in the lake. He knows all 
the fish by sight, and the alligators by name ; cnn 
slioot better, and scream louder, and is the greatest 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


83 


little devil that you ever saw. However, you will find 
out all about him, and be regularly introduced by 
Pierre.” 

I then avail myself of your kindness, colonel.” 

“I will bring with me a particular friend, Docto 
Grant, and another — a real hot-blooded Southerner — 

Mr. Herndon, a Creole — a true specimen of an intelli- 
gent, high-minded and pure Louisianian. He has but 
one fault, and that is his antipathy to abolitionists. 

He will reason with you for hours on slavery, which 1 
think is the most tedious thing in the world.” 

I shall be delighted to meet your friends ; but, 
about the arguments in regard to slavery, Mr. Hern- - . 
don will have a one-sided affair, as I am now con- 
vinced of Northern ignorance in the premises.” 

We have the glory of one more proselyte, then,” 
said the colonel, laughing. ‘‘ Well, I am glad to hear 
it, and Hernden will meet you as a brother. He is 
one of the most fiery fellows you ever saw ; but there 
breathes no nobler spirit then his. At the same time 
he is courteous in his reasoning. But this is one of 
his favorite topics, and he always broaches it to a 
Northerner. He is only the type of a class in the 
South.” 

S 


CHAPTER V. 


•Here in Its gay network and fantastic twin®, 

The purple cogul threads from pine to i)ine ; 
And oft as the fresh airs of morning breathe, 
Dips its long tendrils in the stream beneath ; 
And, ’mid the cedar's darksome boughs, illumes, 
With instant touch, the lori's scarlet plumes.” 


lyrORNING came, and witli it the singing birds, and 
pleasant breeze, rustling among the green leaves 
of the live oaks and orange boughs, making a gentle, 
mysterious whispering ; as if the spirits of the forest 
were holding a soft and low-toned colloquy. Then, 
too, was heard the sound of the cowboy as he cracked 
his whip, and began a rude melody, while the cattle- 
bell kept up a sort of time. There was the glad neigh 
of the horses, and the happy voices of the negroes, as 
they went, refreshed after a night’s rest, to their work 
through the waving cane. 

In the orange-trees, now heavy with their golden 
■ burden, sat one mocking-bird ; while, perched on a 
shrub in the garden, was another, both making the 
air melodious with their rich pipings. The atmosphere 
was laden with sweetness from the rare exotics which 
found a place in the garden. 

All these combined, make a happy association of 
eights and sounds ; and where can a man find them 
with more facility than in a well-ordered Southern 
plantation ? 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 35 

And then, when the rolling season commences, 
there is the sound of the cart-driver’s whip, the shout 
of the boys, the rattle of the cane wagons, the hurried 
rush to the sugar-house, as they tumble their load of 
cane out, and give place for others, at the foot of the 
cane carrier. 

The rushing of fires at different furnaces — the hiss 
of steam as the engineer touches a guage-cock — the 
merry laugh and jest of the cane carrier feeders as they 
throw on the saccharine load — the distant sound of the 
cutter’s song, and the hoarse roar of the engine — the 
huge wreath of steam from the kettles, with the smell 
of cooked sugar. Then to go, in; to the right the 
engine labors, it heaves and pants like some monster 
in pain, as its governor-balls fly round, and the im- 
mense wheels revolve. The sugar-mill is at work. 
See those ponderous cylinders of iron ; observe as they 
turn how they crush and break the cane-stalk ; and 
see the juice in a liquid stream of syrup, as it runs 
below to the pan, to be caught in the juice boxes, 
while the worthless mass, now deprived of all its 
sweetness, is thrown upon the bagasse shoat, and car- 
ried away to enter into the constituents of a new crop. 
Then see the operation. A trap is raised, a rush of 
juice, thick, discolored and filthy — the grand is filled 
— it is there limed and clarified, and passes thence to 
the other kettles. In the kettles it boils and writhes 
and foams ; it is skimmed ; thrown back and inspis- 
sated by the action of heat, until it is time to make a 
strilce. At each kettle stands a negro man ; his business 
is to skim and dip, and to pass the liquid from one 
kettle to another. 

Now they are going to run the syrup from the 
battery. How rich and odorous 1 There it is in a 


36 THE CBEOLE ORPHANS. 

cooler, where it will remain to granulate. Amid all 
this creaking machinery and boiling, these seething 
masses of syrup, and clouds of steam, stands the plant- 
er — ^the type of the true gentleman. He is there the 
“ monarch of all he surveys dressed in Attakapas 
cottonade, a Panama hat on his head, a cigar in his 
mouth, and an eye to all around him. He looks into 
the kettles; then his gaze is turned to the engine. 
Again he tries the density of the syrup with the syrup- 
guage or saccharometer, and quickly his eyes are scan- 
ning the operation of potting sugar in the purgery. 

We might here draw a comparison between the 
southern manufactory, where the labor is all our own, 
and the manufactory of the North. Friend of New 
England, turn your philanthropic eyes a moment here. 
Do you see that big, fat, greasy negro at this kettle, 
with a broad grin on his countenance? See his inde- 
pendence, view his air. Do you see the sign-manual 
of despair on his brow ? Are there starvation and care 
and want in that countenance? There is another — 
that one feeding the rolls, see with what an air he 
chews his tobacco, and squirts it independently around ; 
then stopping, throwing his hands around him to 
warm them by the quick motion, ends with a “ Whoh I” 
Are care and ill treatment marked on that physiog- 
nomy? And see those five or six who have just 
had their breakfast, good bread, meat, and cofiee. 
Hear their careless, happy ‘^Hah! ha! ha!” Is thu 
the sound of wee and mourning? Where are the 
whip and chains and branding iron ? 

For shame — Pah, that any set of people as “ smart” 
as the Yankees acknowledge themselves to be, should 
be so miserably gulled, so humbugged with the raw- 
head and bloody-bone stories, which their abolition 


1?HE CREOLE ORPHANS. 37 

leaders, their pamphlets and public journals teach. But 
it is no joke which the Northern manufactory presents. 
There you have the sunken eye, the haggard cheek, 
the gloomy brow, for they are freemen! God save 
the maik 1 freemen ! A sickly wife, a few wretched, 
squalid, starving children, and miserable wages to 
barely keep body and sou together. Are there not 
some of them v/ho would exchange situations with 
our happy negro ? well fed, well clothed ; lightly 
worked ; in ill health or good, plenty is before him ; 
kind attention during illness, and no pang of agony, 
as he surveys his children, for they are taken care of. 

Far-seeing Yankee, before you utterly condemn us, 
come to the 

“ Land of the cedar and vine ; 

Where the flowers ever blossom, the beams ever shine.” 

Judge US calmly and fairly, and acknowledge that 
yon have had an erroneous idea of slavery. 

It was again a balmy morning when Mr. Hartley 
was aroused by old Pierre ; and, hastily swallowing a 
cup of coffee, he shouldered his gun, and, finding 
Florat below with a basket of provisions, set forth on 
his errand of destruction. Florat was a lively fellow, 
active as a monkey, and full of mischief. At about 
one fourth of a mile from the sugar-house was the 
beginning of the bayou, which terminated in the lake. 
This bayou supplied the water, w'hich was used in the 
boilers, and about the building generalljL At its 
commencement it was wide, clear and deep. A skiff 
had been placed in the ba^mu for fishing in the lake. 
It had now been pushed up to the bank. Florat leaped 
in, and arranged old Pierre’s jacket in the stern for 
Mr. Hartley, who entered. Pierre then shoved off, 


38 


THE CREOLE OKEHAKS. 


and, adjusting the seats, selected a pair of oars and 
began to pull. Hartley remarked that he seemed tc 
scan the provisions closely. 

“ What are you looking after, Pierre ?” he asked. 

“AVhy you see, sah,” answered he, looking very 
grave; ^ wheneber I comes dis way I likes to fetch 
long a drop of sperits; it keeps off de fluvia of de 
swamp ; and a fellow he is a heap more lucky when 
he is got it long wid him.” 

Hartley burst out into a loud laugh at the philosophy 
jf Pierre. 

‘‘ How do you account for that, Pierre?” 

Donno, sah, only you see dis fishing is a raal 
(Scientific tech ; you has to give your hand a kind of 
tremblin’ motion, jest to make de fish tink de ting 
is live ; for you see de fish heap rather hab de fun of- 
killin’ his victuals than to find it dead. He is just 
like folks bout dat, for you see, sah, dars a natural 
instinct in a man what makes him love to kill.” 

“ Well, you are about half right, Pierre, and I sup- 
pose you have not had your morning dram 3^et.” 

“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed he. “ Well, Massa Hart- 
ley, you is de best guesser I is ever seed. I ain’t dat, 
jist give me a dram or two and Pll make dis old skiff 
go same like a steamboat. Lord, sah, when I has 
got some old rye in me, I is a horse ! Tank you 
very kindly, sah,” he continued, smacking his lips with 
peculiar gout^ as he allowed the liquor to slowly trickle 
down his throat. “ I wish I could have dat feeling 
foreber. Lord, sah, de preacher says dat dis whisky 
wris ’vented by de devil; but its my ’pinion dat it is 
de pure juice of Pardice.” 

Florat grinned with delight as he listened to Pierre. 
They proceeded down the bayou, under the sturdy 


I'HE Creole orphans. 


39 


strokes of the oar, enlivened and spiced by the odd 
sayings of Pierre, and the screams of Florat, as he 
struck at some unlucky young alligator, which, swim- 
ming along, showed itself near the boat, or, as he 
stabbed in the water desperately at a gasper gow^ as it 
lay listlessly before the bow. 

The banks of the bayou, were of soft mold, and 
were clothed to the bluff edge with weeds, bright wild 
flowers and mutton cane. Every thing was quiet, 
save the trill of the mocking-bird, the wild carol of 
the blackbird, or the melodious warble of the gold- 
finch, as he poised himself on the topmost twig of a 
tree near by. Then there was the hum of the bee, 
the whirl of the musqueto-hawk, and mayhaj) the kap 
of the fish in the sluggish stream ahead ; or the 
scream of a crane as it flew off and threw out its un- 
gainly neck and legs ; or the dash of a dozen turtles, 
as they splashed from a rotten log into the water. 

“ Dat is a very curous insect, sah,” exclaimed Pierre, 
pausing a moment in his labor, and wiping the per- 
spiration from his brow, v>n which it stood in great 
beads. 

“ What, Pierre ?” 

“ Why, dem cooters, dey fulfillin the Scripture, 
sah.’’ 

“How is that?” 

“ Why, sah, dey is always watciung; and dey is ts 
hard to catch napping as a hard-she'd Baptist.” 

Ha, ha, ha !” shouted Florat. 

“De cooler is de boatman, 

De jay bird de lawyer, 

De mocking-bird de preacher, 

De alligator sawyer, 

Ha, ba, hah I whoop pel* 


40 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


Wh — wli — wliat you for making all dat fuss ibr, 
you black rascal,” exclaimed Pierre; turning and 
making a back-lianded lick at him, while he dodged 
the blow and sprang back laughing. 

Swiftly they glided on. Suddenly Pierre ceased 
pulling, and laying down his oars, clapped his hand 
on his stomach, commenced making a good many ugly 
faces, which he designed as expressive of pain. 

What is the matter, Pierre?” asked Hartley. 

‘‘Oh! Massa Hartley,” groaned he; “I is in a 
’siderable deal of pain in de region of de abominable.” 

“In the what?” asked he, laughing in spite of 
himself. 

“In de abominable, sah,” groaned Pierre; pressing 
harder on the pit of his stomach. “ Oh 1 ah 1 ugh I” 

“Well, what must I do for you, Pierre?” asked 
Hartley. “ What must I give you?” 

“ Well, sah, I don’t know. I don’t think dat nothin’ 
never does me any good but a little sperits. Oh! 
ugh ! ah !” 

Hartley saw through the ruse in a moment. 

“ Oh, I see what is the matter with you — a touch 
of cholera. Here, Pierre, take a dram.” 

Pierre seized the flask eagerly, put it to his mouth, 
and took a long pull — then drawing a deep breath, re- 
turned it, saying: “Ah! dat liquor has got a great 
head, sure. I feels considerable better now, sah.” 

“Very well, Pierre,” laughed Hartley; “you are 
now to remember that you are not to have a pain in 
your ‘ abominable’ again until this evening. Then 
you may have it very slightly. Do you hear, sir?” 

“ Yes, sah,” grinned Pierre. 

They had now reached the wider part of the bayou, 
immediately before its connection with the lake ; and 


41 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 

a singular sight to the eyes of a Northerner presented 
itself. A .sheet of water of some three miles in extent, 
surrounded on three sides with a virgin forest of tall 
cypress and gum was spread out before him. There 
were several small islands in it. The whole forest 
was clothed in a garb of melancholy gray moss, which 
hung from the topmost boughs in heavy waving 
masses, hoary and ancient, nearly to the water. Every 
thing around seemed locked in a trance. Vast trees 
wdth no undergrowth, like pillars in some immense 
cathedral, with this solemn drapery around them, un* 
broken by any opening, bounded the prospect. Far 
off stood hundreds of large white cranes, motionless, 
and gazing silently in the water — while the solitary 
heron fished around the edge, ever and anon uttering 
his peculiar and dismal cry. Upon many logs which 
w^ere floating in the w^ater, lay sleeping alligators, 
whom the warmth of the day had awakened from their 
torpor, to feel the warm sun ; and thousands of turtle 
of all sizes dotted other logs and islets; and often 
would be seen the flounce of some fish as it tried to 
escape the jaws of the ravenous alligator-gar. The 
southern side of the lake was shallow, and filled with 
brush, swamp-reeds, and decayed-dogs. Here the 
Congo and the venomous moccasin held dominion, 
and battened with the toad, and immense water-spiders, 
in the mass of decaying and offensive mud, and ooze 
and leaves and slime. 

The opposite side of the lake was a bluff bank, dry 
and jdeasant; the water deep, cool and clear, and a 
grateful shade was afforded. Here the boat was 
directed, and they then proceeded to dispose of the 
hamper of provisions which Colonel Orraond bad caused 


42 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


to be brought. It was lugged out, and placed at the 
root of a noble hackberrv-tree. 

When this was done, Pierre began his preparations 
for a morning's sport, lie collected bait with a hand 
net, and uncoiled his lines. 

“ Now, Massa Hartley, suppose you try your hand 
at a fish, here be de lines, and I ’spect dat de fish bite 
(nighty well dis mornin’. Now, you Flor, you look 
alive, and scoop up some bait.” 

Florat, acting upon this hint, stepped out upon a 
log ; and after scooping^ as* Pierre called it, returned 
presently with a handful of minnows. These were 
were quickly impaled on the hooks. 

‘‘ Now, Massa Hartley, does you take de lead here, 
sail. You perceive dat hook has got de insect on it — 
dat^s mighty good bait for a hongry trout. I drops 
him in so, and gin him a switch and suiting the 
action to the word, he drew his line gently over the 
water, so as to disturb it slightly. He then let the 
cork float out slowly. The result was in a moment 
he had a large white trout hung ; and, after a minute’s 
delay, he laid it gasping on the bank. 

Hartley admired the dexterity of the old fisherman, 
who evidently enjoyed his triumph. Florat tried his 
luck, and with the like success. Hartley then seized 
the pole, which Pierre handed him, and commenced. 
At first it appeared as if his line was avoided — but at 
length he saw a large perch make a dash — he mot b 
made his sweep, and up came the fish. 

Thus varied the sport ; many trout and perch were 
pulled up by each, until a goodly lot lay on the bank, 
and they even began to tire of the amusement. Hart 
ley was entertained by the oddities of Pierre, and the 
?*emarks of Florat. 


TBE CREOLE ORPHANS. 45 

So passed the morning ; when Hartley thought it 
was nearly time for Colonel Ormond to arrive He 
therefore laid himself down on the bank, in the shade. 

“ Pierre,” he exclaimed, I would like to hear a 
good fish story.” 

Pierre remained silent a moment ; then, looking up, 
re])lied, “ I ’spect it is almost time to repeat dat drink, 
sah. You know de Bible says you can’t do a good 
thing too often.” 

“Well,” laughed -he, “Pierre, I will give you a 
drink if you will tell me a good story about fishing.” 

“Well, sah, dat’s a bargain. I knows one dat’s 
almost as good as poor old Jonah an’ dat big whale.” 

Hartley gave him the flask, and, after a long 
draught and a deep sigh, he began : 

“You see, sah, dat dis inassa ain’t defust one I eber 
had. I ’longed to ole massa, dis one’s father. Wall, 
he used to have a heap ob company, and he thought 
a mighty much ob me. One day, says he, ‘ Pierre, 
go down to de lake, and get a big mess of fish. Some 
gentlemen is gwine to dine wid me to-day.’ I sets 
off. You see dat bay-tree dar, wid de branch broke 
off near de top? Well: I come down, and I sets 
right down dar, and goes to work. De way I pulled 
up de fish were a considerable caution. I got toleble 
tired arter a while, and so, to rejoice my innards, I 
took a pull at a little bottle I carried long wid me ; 
and den I sets to stringing my fish. When I finish 
dat, I puts ’em in de water to kinder freshen dem, 
and lights my pipe to have a smoke. I had not S6i 
dar for more than five minutes, looking in the water 
and a meditatin’ on dis world, when I seed a whirl, 
and a great, big, long, sneaking alligator gar, come a 
stealing on toward de bank. He was a sailing ’long 


44 THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 

like a dog going to steal in a meat-house. I thought 
I would watch and say nothin’ to him. Well, sah'. 
he kept coming closer and closer ; and den he all of 
a sudden made a grab^ and he nailed my whole string 
of fish. Off he went like de debil was after him 
Well; now, dar was a mad nigger about in dem times. 
I naterally danced like a Congo. I hollered arter him 
just to leff half of em to come back ; but he dident 
pay no more ’tention to me than if I was a blind 
puppy. 

“So I took another drink and cussed, and liad 
to go to work and catch another mess of fish. When 
I got home, dinner was ober, and massa said I was a 
drunken rascal ; but he dident whip me. Old massa 
was mighty good dat way, he was. Oh 1 lor, I used 
to fool him mighty bad sometimes. Well, sah : I 
just swore I was gwine to match dat gar ; so I got de 
blacksmith to make me a big hook. I den got two 
plow-lines, and next day come down here. I tied 
one end to de boat, and baited de oder with a piece 
of one of ole massa’s little pigs. I pushed out, and 
lay down to watch. Every now and den I look over 
de side. Presently I see dat same great big gar come 
stealing long. I knowed him by de big green eyes, 
He was a smellin’ round, and sidlin’ up to de bait, 
like a highland nigger to a coi^st gal. After a while 
he made a grab and seized it. Den he know sure 
enough dat it was good to eat. It was soon in his 
belly ; and den it was dat he found out dar was 
Bomething inside of it ; for he tried to cough, but de 
hook got fixed in his chitlins, and he give a jerk. 
Dat gin him de cholic, and he got wrathy. He 
opened his mouth and tried hard to get it up. He 
snorted, and den ofl he put. Lord, sah I yc is 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


46 


hearn tell of yeartbquakes : he made dat old boat 
howl through de water as if de debil was chained to 
her, and he went by steam. De ‘ Diana’ wa’n’t no 
whar to her. Eound and round de lake we went, like 
A streak of greasy lightnin’. We went faster and 
faster Sometimes he would jump plum out ob de 
water, and den he would jerk away one side, and de 
water would bile and foam round us like soapsuds. 
At last he seemed tarmined to get rid of me any 
how, and he took a big sweep round de lake : he 
made my head swim. He went round it a hundred 
and ten times; I counted it. Bound and round he 
went, wid his fins stickin’ straight behind, and his 
head tucked down. Dis de way.” 

Here Pierre commenced a series of evolutions, and 
turned with great velocity to give a practical illustra- 
tion of his story. Poor fellow ! he went around once 
too often, and his feet catching in a root, he went, 
doubled up, over the bank, in about ten feet of water, 
head foremost. 

Hartley dropped down on the ground, in an agony 
of laughter. Florat hugged a sapling to steady him- 
self, and gave full vent to a series of unearthly noises, 
intended for laughter ; and, failing to relieve himself 
in this manner, he let go all hold, and turned several 
summersets, to the great delight of himself. 

Old Pierre managed to get hold of some roots, 
and scrambled out. The old fellow was considerably 
cut down ; but Hartley, still laughing, prescribed a 
dose of brandy, which soon set him in a good humor 
again. 

After some time, he said, '‘Well, Pierre, and then 
what happened?” 

He studied a moment, and, with a quiet giin, ro 


46 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


plied, “ Well, sail : dat gar ran around de lake so often 
dat his head ’gan to swim ; and at last he got so mad, 
and so blind, dat he just jumped ashore, and busted 
his head right open agin a cypress-tree.” 

That is a very remarkable tale, Pierre.” 

“ Dat de fact, sah ; and it ’s true, too, for I seed it 
my own self ; and, what ’s more, I has got dat same 
old hook, what I cut out of him, now at home in my 
cabin.” 

“ Ha ! ha ! ha !” laughed Florat. 

‘‘ Look here, now I” exclaimed he, turning to 
Florat in a rage ; Don’t you go, you yaller nigger, 
to be makin’ fun out ob me. I’ll bust you open, sure !” 

‘‘ Well, Pierre, you and Florat get to dressing some 
of those fish ; and, by the time Colonel Ormond comes, 
we will have dinner ready.” 

“ Well, if there is any thing I does know any thing 
’bout, it is fixing up fish. Dere ’s Doctor Grant : he 
give you a kick wid one foot, and throw you a half 
a dollar at de same time. He make de greatest fuss 
’bout fish, and Florat always bring curry out for him. 
I can beat him a-cookin a long way. Some of dese 
white folks, dey tink dey is mighty smart.” 

Doubtless, Pierre.” 

“Yes, sirree ! and dey don’t ’preciate a nigger, no 
how. Now, you does. Oh ! Mass a Hartley, if you 
was my massa now\” 

“God forbid! Pierre,” laughed Hartley. 

“ Dey don’t treat old niggers now as dey used to 
do.” 

“Ah! how is that, Pierre? don’t you get enough 
to eat?” 

“ Plenty, sah.” 

‘ Are you overworked?” 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


47 


No sah, I doesent do no work, ’cept ’bout de gar- 
den and yard.” 

What then have you to complain of?” 

“ Why sah ! I ain’t complainin’, I is satisfied verv 
well.” He paused a moment, and looking at Hartley 
in an arch manner, asked — 

‘‘Ain’t de niggers free in de country you comes 
from, sah ?” 

“Yes, Pierre, they are free.” 

“And mighty happy and rich dey is, sah, ain’t 
dey?” 

“Happy! no, the poorest, most miserable, dirty, 
sickly devils in the world, starving and dying by the 
hundreds, and hated and despised by the whites.” 

“ Dat ain’t what some of de white folks tells me^ 
sah I” 

' What white folks, Pierre ?” 

“ Why, dem men what comes down in de flat-boats, 
and sells whisky to de niggers. I has had a heap of 
dem to beg me to run away ;* but I is too old.” 

“ You would only regret it once, Pierre, and that 
would be always.” 

“ May be so, sah I I has had my suspicions dat dey 
was fooling us, and was only mad case dey dident 
have no niggers deyself.” 

“ Perhaps so, and you ought to be satisfied.” 

“ I is, sah I only I don’t like de way some folks does ; 
my massa is a good man, he won’t let de overseer hit 
one ob us; but he seem to tink sometimes, dat old 
niggers never wares out.” 

“ Why, Pierre 1 it appears to me that you are treated 
Bs well as you deserve.” 

“ Dat may be so, sah, but my massa ain’t like my 
ole massa was ; we ain’t got no regular misses. Now 


48 


THE CEEOLE ORPHANS. 


Miss Marie she is mighty good, but it ain’t like a sure 
enough one.” 

‘^Well, Pierre,” exclaimed Hartley, “I have an 
opinion of my own, that you are an ungrateful scoun- 
drel.” He saw through the manner of Pierre in a 
moment-; negro-like he only wanted to be encourageil, 
to villify and calumniate one of the best of masters; 
BO he bade him go to work and shut his mouth. 

This he obeyed, and assisted I orat to make a fire, 
%na j)repare a meal for the expec'.ed arrivals. 


CHAPTER VI. 


•In friendly discourse whiled the time awav : 

And slaves, obedient to the call, did spread 
Upon the velvet grass the banquet rare.” 

“Come to the woods in whose mossy dells 
A light all made for the poet dwells ; 

Come, while in freshness and dew it lies. 

To the world that is under the free blue sky.” 

Hemans. 

• 

[TAETLEY, after casting his eye on the &caly oper- 
ations going on, shouldered the gun which had 
been brought along, and sauntered off into the woods. 
As he advanced, the forest grew thicker and darker. 
Yast trees, a century or two old, all bearded with the 
solemn gray moss, extended as far as he could see ; 
while every few rods he was (Compelled to make a cir- 
cuitous rout to avoid small lakes and boggy places. 

After wandering more than an hour in these dim 
old woods, and listening to the rustling of the ancient 
cypress without seeing any game worthy of a shot, he 
started to return. 

Suddenly he paused, he heard a voice- — ^lie listened, 
it was only old Pierre. He retraced his steps hastily, 
for just then he remembered that he had left the pro- 
visions unguarded, and that there were several bottles 
of wine, and one of brandy in the basket. He hastened 
his footsteps, and upon arriving in sight of the lak^ 
4 


60 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


saw Florat in the boat lishing, and distinctly heard 
Pierre singing, apparently very happy. The origin 
of his merriment was suggested. An opening in the 
woods gave him a view; he paused; here was old 
Pierre with a bottle in one hand, in the act of making 
an extempore speech, in which: “rally round the 
standard,” “interests of de country,” “traitors,” etc. 
etc., were distinguishable. With the other hand, he was 
gesticulating furiously, and had even worked himself 
into tears. 1 Lartley proceeded on, and deep and low 
were his objurgations of Pierre. He came again in 
sight of him just in time to witness the closing scene. 
Pierre had changed it into a private camp-meeting, and 
the burden of an old negro song rang through the 
forest. The words which reached his ears, were — 

“ De big bell tolled, 

De angel moaned, 

I invite de strangers home, 

I ’d rather praj my life away 
Than lay in torment half a day.” 


“Hie, hie, hie!” and then the old negro reeled up, 
utterly intoxicated. 

When Hartley came up, bis abuse was in no meas- 
ured terms. Florat excused himself saying that Pierre 
had told him that if he would go out and fish, he 
would attend to cooking; but he did not know that he 
was so cunning. He had been delighted with the per- 
fcrmauce, though. 

With his assistance, Hartley dragged Pierre under 
a tree to sleep of£ his drunkenness, and set Florat to 
work at the culinary department. 

Just then a halloo was heard, and in a short time 
Colonel Ormond, accompanied by two gentlemen, rode 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


61 


up. They were presented to Mr. Hartley, who was 
visibly embarrassed at the situation in which they 
had encountered him and the now oblivious Pierre^ 
but the kind and courteous demeanor of the strangers, 
soon set him at his ease. Upon a felicitous description 
of Pierre’s mishap, the company were thrown into con- 
vulsions of laughter, and many jokes were cracked 
the old fellow’s expense'. 

Mr. Hartley had leisure to examine his new acquaint- 
ances. Mr. Herndon was a native of Louisiana, his 
parents having emigrated from Carolina many years 
before. He was planting near Colonel Ormond, and 
was a bosom friend. He was a tall, handsome man, 
with a large blue eye, energetic and fiery, hot and im- 
petuous when aroused, but no girl of sixteen could be 
more mild and gentle at other tii^aes. He was a sincere 
and ardent friend; a bitter and implacable enemy. 
He was pleasant and bland, and impressed Hartley 
favorably. He was dressed in light pantaloons, with 
a tight-bodied blue coat, and, in his tout ensemble, was 
noble and captivating. 

Dr. Grant, on the other hand, was a smaller^man, 
thin and wirj^, with bold but aquiline features, with 
his perceptive faculties largely developed, and an eye 
dark and piercing. He was a merry, whole-hearted 
Virginian, who after receiving his diploma at the Uni- 
versity, from the hands of its founder, established 
himself in the sunny South. Here he married^ and 
ties of long association, and mutual esteem, bound him 
an 1 Colonel Ormond to each other. 

‘‘Come, gentlemen, let’s liquor,” ^vas the given and 
accepted invitation. 

‘Florat, be lively now,” said the colonel, “and let 
us see how quickly vou can have some dinner ready.” 


62 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


“ I will take the lead in the cooking,” said Dr 
Grant. “You know, Herndon, that the ladies say 1 
arn the most accomplished cuisinier in the whole 
parish.” ^ 

“ Yes, doctor,” he replied, “ if you had graduated at 
Tortoni’s in Paris, instead of in your medical school, 
you would have been invaluable.” 

All laughed, and good-humoredly assisted each 
other in preparing the meal, enlivening the labor with 
well-seasoned repartee and wit. 

At length the fish w’ere frying, and a cloth from the 
boat spread on the leaves, garnished with plates brought 
for the purpose, and all the little adjuncts which are 
never neglected by those who are accustomed to re- 
unions of this kind. 

“ Come, Florat, now for the o^/ry,” exclaimed Dr 
Grant. ^ “Not enough coriander, too much turmeric, 
cayenne right. Ormond, you should get me to make 
your curry powders; I bad an old uncle who lived in 
India, he taught me, he made me the gourmand I am ; 
and left me nothing to support my taste. There 
now, Florat, serve up some more.” 

We will not w'eary the reader with the dinner in 
the woods ; but only hope he may with old wine and 
good cheer, spirited conversation, and a fine cigar, 
enjoy such things as heartily as we have often enjoyed 
them. 

“Well, Mr. Hartley,” said Herndon as he leaned 
back against a tree, puffed his cigar, and settled him 
self comfortably. “ I hope you enjoy Southern life.” 

“ Thus far,” replied Mr. Hartley smiling “ I am more 
than satisfied, I am delighted.” 

“ Colonel Ormond informs me, that you are from the 
land of steady habits, sir,” 


THE CREOLE ORl'HAHS. 


5 ; 


^ I ^ppuse, Mr. Herndon, I shall have to confess to 
that oount--! am a Yankee.” 

‘‘ No disgrace, Mr. Hartley,” he laughed, “ I had 
rather be a Yankee, any time, than a Scotchman. We 
welcome our Northern brethren, warmly sir, when 
they come unprejudiced, to share our hospitality, but — ” 

“Herndon,” quickly cried Colonel Ormond, giving 
him at the same time a meaning look, 

“Bahl” laughed Mr. Herndon. 

“ Votre promesse — ” 

“ Si je puis.” Then turning to Hartley he continued. 
“ Do you know, Mr. Hartley, that I am under a promise 
to Colonel Ormond, to abstain from introducing the 
subject of slavery to day ?” 

“Well,” answered he, “I certainly appreciate the 
Colonel’s delicacy, but as far as I am concerned it will 
not be disagreeable.” 

“ There now,” said Herndon, turning to Colonel 
Ormond, “ I see that Mr. Hartley is a half Southerner 
already.” 

“ I have been only a short time in the South, but I 
can say that I have been pleasantly surprised, at the 
difference of treatment to slaves, from what I had been 
accustomed to believe.” 

“Yes, they are treated much better than they de- 
serve ; they are a degraded race, anff, are not suscepti- 
ble of the feelings of human beings ; they are pretty 
things to make freemen of, any how. Now, Mr. Hart- 
ley,” he continued, turning and pointing to Pierre 
“ There is an old scamp whom you know is well -treat* 
ed, fed and indulged, beyond his desert. He has as 
kind a master as ever lived. Well, take that negro as 
an example. Talk with him about his master, listen 
to him, and, if you are credulous, you will believe that 


64 THE CREOLE ORPHANS, 

that master should have been in the Penitentiary ten 
years since.” 

Mr. Hartley felt how true this was, for he had that 
day had it brought home to him. ‘‘I have always 
L eard that the negro was grateful for kindness, and 
took an interest in his owner’s success.” 

There are honorable exceptions to the rule I have 
laid down, Mr. Hartley, but they are very few. But 
in general the negro is so coarse in his feelings, that ne 
is totally incapable of having a real affection for his 
owners ; he may have a preference, but it is all habit. 
Whip a dog, and he will love you, is an old vulgar 
saying, which will apply to a negro ; for it is a well-es- 
tablished fact that the more sternly and harshly they 
are treated, the more they will bear the semblance of 
esteem.” 

“ Do you not think that the state of slaverj’ is the 
cause of this gross feeling in the negro ?” 

“ Most certainly not ; thgy will not bear liberty, for as 
soon as the restraints which the whites impose on them 
are withdrawn, they soon return to a state of barbarism. 
This is proven in every country where the law of 
emancipation has passed. They are not fit for it — and 
even the colony now being established in Liberia is gov- 
erned by white men, and its affairs conducted by the 
whites or mulattdes. Take away the Circassian, leave 
the pure negro alone, and in a few years there would 
not be discovered the faintest ray of civilization. 

“Look at the British possessions in the West 
Indies — a few years since, the act of emancipation 
passed the British Parliament. What is the result? 
Freedom to the negro! it is a bitter boon. 1 have 
traveled in Jamaica and St. Domingo, since the negroes 
were freed What a change 1 What a scene of de«o- 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 55 

lation met my eyes! Magnificent mansions, which 
once echoed to the sound of happy voices, are silent 
as the grave. Large fields once teeming with heavy 
crops of can(3, yielding to the inroads of a rank and 
unwholesome vegetation, grown up in bushes, and 
the dwelling-place of the viper and the scorpion, 

“ Costly sugar-houses, with expensive fixtures, going 
to decay, doors off their hinges, the grass growing, 
rank and luxuriant, around their once bustling courts. 
Machinery imported at immense cost, eaten up with 
rust. All silent and untenanted. The hearth-stone 
cold, desolation and decay every where. God keep 
my beloved country from witnessing such a catas- 
trophe 1 And where, sir, are those once happy fami- 
lies? Where? Scattered to the four winds of 
Heaven, penniless and destitute. And the slaves, too, 
is their condition bettered ? Poor, degraded, pilfering 
wretches, dragging out a miserable existence. Ever}^ 
inducement offered to them to improve their condition 
— work and plenty — good wages and rewards. But, 
if you would find them, go to the crowded hospitals, 
the grog-shops, and other scenes of debauchery, there 
the free negro flourishes in all his glory. And these 
are the fruits of emancipation — ruining families, debas- 
ing servants, and converting fertile fields into a wilder 
ness of bramble and thistle. These are the effects of 
this mistaken system — cursed be the head which ever 
conceived them 1 And even now, in the face of all 
this, the government of France is pursuing the same 
ruinous system. Now, if our friends at the North, 
who have an idea that all the negro wants is freedom 
to put himself on a level, in all respects, with the 
white race, wish to try it, there is a field open for their 
experiment,’^ 


66 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


You draw a very painful picture of the effects 
of emancipation, Mr. Herndon,” said Mr. Hartley; 

and although I am not as ultra as you are, still, 
I must confess, that there is much truth in your 
statement.” 

‘ I like 3 "ou, Mr. Hartley, because you are not as 
rabid as some 1 wot off, and are willing to listen, and 
do not bring up the infernal cant of religion to sustain 
you. I would so much not blame the foreigner for 
abusing our system, but when the abuse comes from 
our brethren, only separated by a few hundred miles, 
and they declare an open and undying war against us, 
for the very system by which they live, and grow 
wealthy — that is more than we can stand. 

“As men are the natural enemies of snakes, and 
other vermin, so am I the foe of an abolitionist. Here 
they come, pressing themselves into the service of our 
negroes — groaning and lifting up their eyes in pious 
horror. They push their sympathy too far; but by 
their actions rivet the chains on the slave faster. They 
retard the prospect of future improvement in the 
Northern slave-holding states; and scatter the seeds 
of discord, misery, and bloodshed between us. And 
all this is done in the name of philanthropy. But, 
Mr. Hartley, there is a time coming when ‘ forbear- 
ance will cease to be a virtue ;’ and when the South 
will no longer submit to have their feelings outraged - 
their rights disregarded — and their domestic relations 
invaded with impunity. The Southron will cease to 
endure ; ‘ will cease to point calmly to the Constitution 
and the Northerner to the ‘ higher law ;’ then will be 
heard the clash of arms, and then will ruin and shame 
overcome us.” 

“ God forbid I” exclaimed Mr. Hartley. 


TSE CilEOLE OHPSAKS. 67 

‘*Come, gentlemen, let’s liquor,” cried Dr. Grant, 
trying to divert the conversation. 

“ Now,” said Colonel Ormond, as soon as the liquor 
had been dispatched ; “ I have one word to say — 
have been listening to Herndon attentively — and 1 
can not but admit that he lias expressed my feelings 
much better than I could. I noticed a remark made 
about the gratitude of negroes. That virtue is not 
in their catalogue. I will relate an instance, a real 
fact, none of your fancy sketches got up for effect. 

‘‘ A Northern gentleman, a lawyer of ability, settled 
some years ago in one of the Florida parishes in this 
State. He very soon commanded a share of business. 
He married the daughter of a respectable old planter 
in an adjoining parish. The planter owned negroes, 
and, of course, the son-in-law inherited through his 
wife. He was strongly imbued with the notion of 
emancipation. Conversations with his wife tinctured 
her mind with the doctrine, and he then formed a 
plan for the ultimate emancipation of their slaves. 

“ About this time he acquired, by the successful 
defense of a suit, a large tract of land in the State of 
Illinois, and he then determined to carry into practice 
his Utopian idea of establishing a colony of free 
negroes on the land, and for himself to play the 
Patriarch to his flock. 

“ In accordance with those feelings, he visited 
Illinois, had the land surveyed ; and, after making his 
final arrangements, returned and removed all his 
negroes and family thither. He built a dwelling, and 
houses, for the negroes, and furnished the houses com- 
fortably. He emancipated all his slaves, and put his 
theory to the test of practice. Upon the principle of 
the community farms, he laid out his fields, and gave 


68 THE CREOLE ORPHAlsrs* 

the negroes an interest in the crop. The first year 
they did tolerably well, but grumbled a good deal upon 
the division. During the spring of the second year, 
several left him, and by the time the crop was ready to 
harvest, he had scarcely half of his original force. The 
negroes who remained were given to intoxication, in- 
subordination and idleness, and he then began to set 
into the effects of his system. At the end of the 
second year, all had gone save a few of the superan- 
nuated. 

“ That year was remarkably unhealthy, and his 
family were exceedingly sickljL. Ultimately, he him- 
self was taken ill. His wife sent to the negro houses 
to request some one to attend on them. 

‘‘ Latterly, the negroes’ services had been grudgingly 
and reluctantly given ; and now he and his family re- 
ceived nothing but impertinence and insult, and an ab- 
solute refusal to assist them. What a commentary on 
the pretended gratitude of the negro ! Servants who 
had been raised by her father refused to wait upon the 
child in helpless illness. Servants who had been freed 
from bondage, and put upon terms of equalitj^ with the 
whites ; and upon whose breast she had probably often, 
when a child, been lulled to sleep. This is gratitude — 
negro gratitude. Pshaw 1 tell me not of it — it will do 
well enough for sickly sentimentalists to prate about — 
philanthropists who have nothing to lose — and old 
maids like Harriet Martineau to twattle about, but to 
carry such plans into execution is insanity. No, sir, 
God made them slaves ! slaves they have ever been ! 
human enactments may declare them freemen, but they 
ever have, and ever will be slaves to their own pecu- 
liar characteristics — vices of lust and brutality. God 
has put his mark upon them, and He said, ‘ Cursed 


59 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS 

Oe Canaan; a servant of servants shall he he nnto his 
brethren.’ ” 

“Well, that settles it,” cried Dr. Grant, “and 1 now 
propose we return.” 

This being agreed to, he gave Pierre in charge :>£ 
Florat, with orders to return home at once. 

“Slavery is a subject I seldom converse upon,” said 
Colonel Ormond. “ In the first place it is too much 
trouble, and in the next place I can not conceive any 
benefit to be derived from it.” 

“ I have listened to you all,” laughed Dr. Grant, 
“ and heard your arguments, but there is one thing I 
have .noticed which has escaped the observations of all 
writers on the history of man.” 

“ What is this discovery ?” asked Mr. Herndon. 

“You have never seen a negro who would confess 
himself perfectly well ; or one who had not at some 
time in his life been a horse. Ask any male negro if 
he is well? He will reply, ‘No sir, I ain’t ’zactlj 
well,’ or ‘I feels mighty bad.’ Praise one up, tell him 
he is a splendid hand and looks strong. He will 
answer — ‘ Well, massa, I ain’t worth much now but I 
li' seed de time when I was a liorseJ ” 

A roar of laughter followed the doctor’s description 
of his discovery, and amid the merriment of boon 
companions, they drove up to the mansion of Colonel 
Ormond. 

He insisted upon the friends remaining. Mr. Hern 
don did so, but Dr. Grant excused himself in conse* 
quence of the indisposition of his wife. 

All the remainder of the evening was spent by the 
gentlemen in the gallery, in social converse; and 
when they separated, between Mr. Herndon and Hart 
ley there existed a mutual feeling of esteem. 


i 


CHAPTER PII. 

“ Leaves have their time to fall, 

And flowers to wither at the north wind’s breath, 

And stars to set — but all, 

Thou hast all seasons for thine own, oh Death 1” 

Hemans. 

“ Si Deus nobiscum, quis contra nos 

Motjntmorres. 

O N the following morning, Mr. Hartley was sitting 
in the gallery reading a newspaper. The sound 
of horses’ feet were heard ; he looked up ; it was a fine 
looking youth of some fourteen years who alighted. 
He saluted Mr. Hartley respectfully, and seated himself. 

In a few minutes Colonel Ormond entered ; he re- 
ceived the youth kindly, and presented him to Mr. 
Hartley, as Louis Lamotte. 

“You knew we had arrived, Louis,” h^ said, “ why 
have you not been over ?” 

The boy replied in a sweet mellow voice, in which 
a slight French accent was perceptible, “ that he had 
been paying a visit to a friend down on the coast, and 
had just returned, but that he had rode over that 
morning to inform him that Mr. Laufre’s negro Bob 
had died last night.” 

“ I am truly sorry to learn that,” said Colonel Or- 
mond, expressing more concern in his countenance, 
than would have been supposed, at the simple an- 
nouncement of the death of a slave. He remained 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


61 


Silent a short time, and cast his glance on the youth 
who sat by, pensive and half melancholy. Louis' was 
dressed in a light hunting-shirt of cloth, with dark 
fringe, a pair of black pantaloons, and his feet were 
covered with a neatly -polished boot, while a ^crimson 
velvet cap was carelessly thrown on a chair by him 
His face was beautiful, and of that deep, subdued, ex- 
pressive beauty which lasts and makes an impression 
on the memory. His hair was long, and hung in 
heavy mas^s down his neck. His eye was dark and 
pensive. In fact, his countenance was one which we 
could not help believing was inspired by genius. 

Colonel Ormond aroused himself, and exclaimed, 
“ Louis, the children are in the garden, I hear their 
voices, join them.” He blushed deeply as he seized 
his cap and hastily left the gallery. 

“You may remember, Mr. Hartley,” he said, “that 
yesterday it was said in our conversation, that there 
were some few exceptions to the general rule, in regard 
to the attachment of negroes to their masters.” 

“ I remember.” 

“ Well, here now is an example, and it is one of the 
few instances on record, in which the African race has 
proved faithful, and exhibited feeling. The slave 
whom you have heard Louis name, was really faith- 
ful and true, and I have no doubt Mr. Laufre is truly 
distressed. He was a treasure — being old he was 
exempted from any labor, and his every want grati- 
fied; he felt his master’s interest and was trust- 
worthy in the extreme. The family were all strongly 
bcund to the negro by ties of real esteem. The inci- 
dent I refer to endeared him to his master for life. 
M r. Laufre and his wife were traveling years ago up 
th' Mississippi river; Bob was with them. When up 


62 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


the stream some distance, the boat caught fire, the 
pilot seemed to be seized with a panic, and instead of 
running the boat on shore, he kept her in the middle 
of the river. Ultimately wrapped in flames, she was 
run on the foot of Ozark Island. The boat swung 
jound, and no one could reach the shore. She then 
suddenly exploded, tearing away all the forward part 
of the cabin. 

The yawl was soon filled with terrified people, leav ^ 
ing in the ladies’ cabin, Mr. Laufre, his wife, and Bob. 
They were alone on that portion of the burning wreck, 
the flames were wrapping every thing in their destruct- 
ive embrace, and there seemed nothing but certain 
death to them. 

All the boilers of the boat had exploded, a thousand 
fragments were scattered around, and many torn and 
mangled human beings lay about. The scene was 
awful, and even now Mr. Laufre, when he relates the 
circumstance*, shudders. 

There stood himself and his wife, and by them stood 
Bob. Bob saw there was no other resource left, seized 
his mistress around the waist, and plunged into the 
water. He gallantly battled among the floating frag- 
ments, and reached the shore in safety. He returned, 
and brought his master in the same manner. Was 
that not a noble deed ?” 

“Oh, it was! it was!” answered Hartley, “and did 
he not emancipate the negro?” 

“ He offered to do so repeatedly, but Bob preferred 
staying with a good and indulgent master ; he has died 
among kind and sincere friends ; and true drops of 
sorrow will be shed over his grave.” 

“Suppose,” continued he, “you ride over therewith 
me this evening.” 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


63 


I shall be delighted ; but there is a questioD 
hich I was about to ask you. Who is this youth 
. ho just now left us ?” 

He is a noble fellow,” answered Colonel Ormond, 
\ ith a smile of partiality. “ He is generous, and brave, 
\ athful and honorable.” 

In reply to an inquirjq he continued ; He is an or 
p an, his parents were French immigrants, who died 
th yello w fever, in New Orleans, when he was an 
infant. A distant relative took him, and having no 
children, adopted him. His parents were possessed of 
tome propert}^ ; this was placed in a safe institution, 
and has been accumulating ever since. His guardian 
resides about four miles from here, and is a high-mind- 
ed, honorable gentleman ; not like the generality of 
old Frenchmen, that hate de dam hnericans^ and inno- 
vations of all kinds. This Louis is a boy of decided 
talent, but he is almost too fond of hunting to be a 
good student.” 

“ I have never seen a face with which I was more 
pleased,” said Mr. Hartley. 

“You will do well to cultivate his friendship, Mr. 
Hartley ; you will find him- a valuable acquisition in 
your rambles ; he understands the gentle art of venerie 
and woodcraft. But come, let us take a ride, and when 
we return and get our dinner, it will be time to go over 
to see the last of poor Bob.”. 

Louis Lamotte meanwhile sought the garden, where, 
under the shade of a large live-oak, throwing .ts pro 
tecting arms over them, he found Marie and the two 
girls. She was sewing some light fabric, while they^ 
having thrown down the book which they had brought 
to read, were arranging bouquets, and making garlands 
of flowers. 


64 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


He came upon tliem suddenly ; his frank approach 
and the exclamations of delight, with which he was 
greeted, told plainly that he was no unwelcome or un- 
usual visitor, as indeed he was not, for many were ti:o 
pleasant and happy days he spent with them. 

Both the children sprang to meet him, and Marie 
received him with a quiet and pleased smile. He was 
soon deeply engaged in the same occupation with the 
children, and they were at the same time delighted 
with his affectionate efforts to please. He amused them 
by giving a history of his late visit, and adventures, 
but cast a shade of sorrow on the group when he men- 
tioned the death of “ old Bob,” whom all knew, and 
loved. Thus in pleasant intercourse, the time passed 
until the hour for dinner. 

Old grumbling Sally, was some distance off, busy 
over a bed of “yarJs,” and directing the labors of a 
lot of little negroes in weeding. She was, as usual, 
giving full vent to her spleen. 

“Now you Phillis, why don’t you mind me; I nebei 
did see sich a nigger in all my born days, I tells you 
to pull up de pusley from out dat bed ob tansey, and 
you goes right straight to pullin’ up parsnips, hard ’s 
ever you can. De fust thing you knows I ’ll bounce 
you, nigger. You Tid, whar is you carrying dat ar 
wheelbarrow? put it down; de Lord he knows I has 
more trouble wid you all dan you is worth, I don’t 
know what little niggers is made fur ; for Uiy part 1 
never could see any use in ’em, but to fret old creeturs 
with ; Lord knows I has a monstrous hard time of it ; 

I wish I was back in old South Calliny agin * I tink 
de Lord will hear my prayers, and — Now, Colin 
why don’t you get to work? what is jyou put here 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


65 


for, bey ? Loo, I raly b’leve you is bin pullin’ dem 
currants.” 

No, I clar I ain't, Aunt Sally” cried, the terrified 
little wretch, I jes tetched my finger on dat bush, and 
dey dropped oflF.” 

You is tellin’ a lie, I know you is ; stick out your 
tongue. Dar now, I knowed it ; you ain’t ? Well I’ll 
soon see, I ’ll give you a ’metic and I know I kin find 
out dat way.” 

‘‘Aunt Sally, Aunt Sally!” called out some one 
from the Quarter. 

“Dar it is, agin, Aunt Sally I Aunt Sally! all de 
time. What kin you do, widout Aunt Sally ? Wbat 
you want?” she exclaimed in a loud, sharp voice. 

“ Little Hanna done come in from de field wid de 
fever,” was the answer. 

“ Oh, yes, sick, of course, all de time sick ; what bus- 
iness she gittin’ sick, couldent she put it off till Sun 
day?” 

“Yes, an I reckon you will put off dying till Sun- 
day some of dese times,” exclaimed one of the little 
negroes, as soon as old Sally had hobbled off. 

“ Be a mighty good ting if she ’d do it right away,” 
replied another. 

“ I’d have all dat coffee she got in her chist,” chimed 
in a third. 

Old Sally was very strict in what she thought was her 
3uty, and she made the little darkies “ toe the mark 
hence they bore her no good will. She on her part, 
having got into a habit of grumbling, came out on all 
occasions. She stated seriously, “ Dat de fact was, no 
body what had little niggers round dem, to tend to 
could go to heaven — (a remark which by the way more 
5 


66 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


than one accomplished Southern lady had made), cause 
dey made folks commit a heap of sin.” 

But Sally was a systematic grumbler, nothing es- 
caped her. If a light drouth came on ; she would walk 
her gallery, seize a stick and bang some innocent dog, 
who was trying to make an honest living by picking 
up the scraps. Then she would go to the edge of the 
porch, cast her eye up; “Well de ting is pinted now, 
no rain, de garden is as dry as a ash bank, ebery ting 
dying, de corn in de field is curling up, no corn for 
next year, de cane is done gone, ’t ain’t as big as my 
little finger, no crop dis year.” She would sit down 
and rock herself to and fro for some time, to work off 
her extra spleen. Perhaps a little cloud would arise, 
the wind change, and a distant roll of thunder be 
heard ; she would spring off, and up would go her 
weather eye again. Then would she smile, “ Tank de 
Lord for dat much ; I prayed hard for dat.” Such a 
getting up of chickens, gathering in of clothes, and 
placing of water barrels. The cloud would pass over. 
“ Oh, I knowed it, I knowed it wan’t agwine to rain, 
jest cause it’s me wants it ;” and, here in a perfect storm 
of indignation, she would bang the door after her, and 
retire. But let a good rain come, she would be found 
in the garden, as busy as a bee, setting out young cab- 
bage or lettuce plants. “ Here come anoder shower. 
Oh yes, now it’s began it don’t know when to stop,” and 
again would she seek her cabin, to give vent to her 
feelings. 

Poor Sally I you are only a representative of many 
grumblers in this world, who have, by practice, re- 
duced the thing to a habit. 

It was late in the evening when Colonel Ormond 
and Mr. Hartley mounted, and rode off toward Mr. 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


67 


Laufre’s ; but after they set out, Marie took the girls, 
and, with Louis, again went to her favorite haunt 
under the live-oak in the garden. They had not long 
been there, before Pierre, learning that his master had 
gone, came sneaking around the garden-fence, to 
where the party were. lie had in his hand a large 
bunch of water-lily, which he declared he had brought 
to Misses Zoe and Estelle ‘‘plum from de lake.” His 
step was still unsteady, and he was not quite over the 
effects of his late frolic. 

“ Pierre, you have been drinking,” exclaimed Marie, 
as he presented himself before her. 

“No, I ain’t, Miss Marie.” 

“ Oh 1 Pierre I Pierre I how often have I begged 
you not to drink so much. You don’t know how bad 
it looks in an old man like you.” 

“ Me, Miss Marie ?” exclaimed the old scamp, in 
apparent surprise ; “ Me ? ’Pon my word, I ain’t toch 
a drop to-day.” 

“ Why, you stagger, Pierre 1 you are drunk !” 

“ Oh 1 no. Miss Marie ; Pierre gettin’ old : it ’s 
weakness. I was just gwine to ax you for a little 
dram to keep up de circulation.” 

“ No, Pierre ! not a drop ! You have been drinking : 
you can not deceive me.” 

Pierre, well knowing that when once she refused 
him, it was useless to press the matter, walked off 
slowly, until he got beyond the garden-gate, when he 
boldly and briskly stepped up to the gallery, which 
Robert was just then sweeping out. “Bob I Bob I’' 
said Pierre, “ wake up, horse-fly, and gib dis old nig 
ger a dram.” 

“No, you don’t, old boy.” 

“ MLss Marie sent me.” 


68 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


You don’t catcli dis here nigger dis week,” replied 
Bob, grinning; ‘‘an’ you don’t get no dram from 
me.” 

“ Look here, nigger ! I ’ll go call Miss Marie, and 
she ’ll make you mind. She sent me, sah I Do you 
tink I ’d a come ’dout she sent me ? Don’t you see 
how wet I is bin — me what ’s just saved the life of a 
fellow-cretur.” 

“Now, dat’s good! You, Pierre? you save his 
life?” 

“Yes, sah 1 One of Mr. Le Baron’s boys fell into 
de lake, and I jump in jest as he was a-drownin’, and 
pull him out. Dat ’s how, sah 1” 

Bob looked at him in admiration, and then said, 
“Well, I declarl but is you sure Miss Marie telled 
you to come to me for a dram ?” 

“ Yes, sah 1 dident I tell you so ? Jest call her, and 
ax her, sah, and see if I ain’t tellin’ you de truth.” 

Bob was satisfied, and brought out a stiff drink of 
brandy, which Pierre at once disposed of. 

“ Well, now,” muttered he to himself, as he walked 
off, “ dat ’s what I call policy. I walked into dat nig- 
gar’s feelings good! Well, I is a great nigger, sure !” 
and, with this consolatory reflection, he turned into 
the Quarter-yard to his house, to sleep off the fatigues 
of the day. 

In the mean time. Colonel Ormond and his guest 
were wending their way to Mr. Laufre’s. The house 
was situated on the river-bank. Upon riding up to 
the gate, and entering the yard, Mr. Laufre, a portly, 
handsome, middle-aged gentleman, met them. He 
conducted them into the gallery, where seats were 
already placed. The gallery is an all-important por- 
tion of the house in the South ; and no where is more 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 69 

time spent in them, or are they more valued than on 
the Louisiana coast. 

Mr. Hartley was presented. 

“ Ah I Colonel Ormond, welcome to you and youi 
friend. I am glad to see you.” 

VV^ell, Mr. Laufre,” observed Colonel Ormond, I 
am sorry that you have been so unfortunate as to lose 
poor Bob.” 

“ Ah I sir, do not mention it. I would sooner have 
lost half-a-dozen of my best hands. Not for his in 
trinsic worth, but because, gentlemen, he was a faith 
ful fellow. He was raised up with me, had been my 
playmate in childhood, and my companion in later 
years ; and, in truth, I felt for him almost the affec- 
tion of a brother. He felt that my interest, and my 
honor, was as dear to him as to myself ; and then, you 
know that he risked his life to save mine.” 

‘‘ I have known Bob for a number of years, and 
have always respected him.” 

“ Ah ! Colonel, he was not like a common negro ; 
he had the soul of a white man. But I must not re- 
pine. I was with him until he died, and, if there ever 
was a Christian, he was one. I am much distressed.” 

The same air of sorrow showed itself upon the faces 
of the whole family ; and, beyond courteous expres- 
sions of welcome and kindness, not a word was spoken 
at the supper-table. 

Bob, as we have seen, was really beloved by the 
family ; and nothing which could contribute to his 
comfort or happiness was refused. He had long ceased 
labor, not on account of age, but infirmity; but still 
he kept an eye to his master’s interests. The little 
negroes would ever pretend to be industrious when 
he happened to cast his eye on them. Many a fence* 


70 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


rail was saved from destruction by the stern counte- 
nance of old Bob, who alwaj’s came just at the mo- 
ment ; and often it was that a few minutes’ work on 
the levee by stuffing moss in a craw -fish hole, saved 
many days’ labor in the end. He knew all the hogs 
by name, and could tell in a moment if a pig had dis 
appeared the previous night. He could be seen any 
warm day in summer, fishing for shrimps, mending 
his nets, or rooting out a big weed along the fence. 
He was a declared enemy to all kinds of vermin ; and 
polecats, minxes, and coons, were his abhorrence. 
But poor Bob grew weaker, his step was tottering and 
feeble, and the time came for him to lie down and die. 
The summons came, and found Bob ready. To Mrs. 
Laufre’s question, “ Are you afraid to die. Bob ?” he 
replied, “ Oh I no, missus I Bob ain’t afeered to die 
I is tried to do my duty, and I puts my trust in de 
goodness of de Lord.” 

Bob died, peacefully and calmly ; bis master stood 
by him, and he smiled and breathed his last sigh, say- 
ing, “ God bless you, massa !” 

A hum of gathering voices announced that the ne- 
groes were assembling in Bob’s cabin, to hold their 
simple funeral rites. Mr. Laufre requested the gentle- 
men to accompany him into the Quarter. They paused 
on the levee awhile, to allow the negroes to gather. 
The buzz of voices informed them that they vrere 
gathering ; and the three gentlemen now turned their 
course thitherward. 

As they neared the cabin, they could hear the 
sobs of grief, and low murmurs of mourners, which 
were more expressive than the sorrow of hired sympa- 
thy at aristocratic funerals. 

They entered. There were assembled some him 


THIC CREOLE ORPHANS. 


71 


drea negroes, of all ages and sexes, from the hoary 
patriarch to the giddy child. 

In the center of the house, on a bench, stood the 
coffin, incasing the remains of old Bob. There were 
candles burning on and near the coffin, and simple 
refreshments on a table in a corner. They were chant- 
ing a low, mournful hymn ; and, as soon as their mas 
ter entered with his friends, they all arose, but com 
tinued the song. One of the older negroes handed 
some chairs, which were placed near the door. 

As soon as the hymn was over, the officiating negro 
preacher, of whom there is generally one, or at least 
an elderly class-leader,” on every large plantation, 
arose. He was a venerable old man, with hair white 
as snow, and with a fine, pleasing expression of coun- 
tenance. A full suit of black distinguished him, as 
also a very white neckerchief, and a stiff collar. He 
commenced with a fervent and impassioned prayer, 
in which, although not much acquaintance with gram- 
mar was displayed, a deep and sincere earnestness was 
perceptible. He thanked the Almighty that, although 
one brother was gathered, like a ripe sheaf, still they 
were spared. He thanked Him for all His mercies, 
and asked a blessing on their labors. For his dear 
master, mistress, and children, he asked the choicest 
blessings of Heaven. 

After the prayer, another hymn was sung, the re 
frain of which was : 

“ Happy soul, thy days are ended, 

All thy mourning days below ; 

Go, by angel-guards attended, 

To the sight of Jesus go.'’ 

Again he arose, and in a solemn manner spoke ol 
the occasion which drew them together, “ Mj 


72 


THE CREOLE ORt>HAl^S. 


friends, ^ lie said, “ we have ’sembled here to-night xj 
pay de last tribute to our departed brother. A few 
days ago, he was alive and strong, and with us, and 
DOW’ he is treadin’ them unknown shores beyond de 
grave. Ah ! my friends, he was prepared to go, he 
told his missus he wasent afeard to die, an’ go home 
to Jesus. Oh ! be you ready likewise, for you know 
not ‘ when de bridegroom cometh.’ Attend to de in- 
terests of your immortal souls ; cast your eyes to de 
things of another world, where sorrow and sadness 
don’t come. How vain and fleeting, my friends, is 
all de things of dis life compared with ’ternity. Oh 1 
then, lay up 3 ^our treasures above, and put your 
’pendence in Jesus’ love.” 

In this style he went on for half an hour. At length 
he drew to a close. He ended by a handsome 
eulogy upon poor Bob, and begged his hearers to 
imitate his example and follow him to the happy 
land. 

During all this time, the assembly were dissolved in 
tears, and at times, when he grew eloquent and ex- 
cited, the agitation was great among them, and the 
broken exclamations of ‘‘Amen!” “Bless de Lord!” 
“Gone to heaven, sure!” “ De good old cretur!” 
“ Lord, save us !” were often heard. 

Another prayer, which called forth more cries and 
tears, more groans, and even misplaced and sometimes 
ludicrous sentences, was made. 

Hartley caught himself, more than once, smiling, 
and then, the next minute, he experienced a strange 
feeling of choking and a watery suffusion of the eyes. 

At last it was over, and several of the men went 
out, and got torches of pine, or light wood, as it is 
termed which had been obtained from some steam- 


Creole orphans. 


7S 


boat by the negroes, for the purpose of kindling fires. 
The top of the coffin was now raised for the last time, 
that all might get a parting look at poor Bob. Mr. 
Laufre arose and went to it. He gazed at the corpse 
a few moments amid the most profound silence. Two 
great tears slowly rolled down his cheeks. 

Poor old fellow I” he exclaimed ; “ friend of my 
boyhood ! you are in peace ! your journey is over. 
My people,” he continued, looking around earnestly 
“ behold the end of a faithful servant. All of you 
have known Bob for years; you have never known 
him guilty of a mean action. He was ever mild and 
humane. His whole life has been one of unceasing de- 
votion to his master, and his end was as peaceful as the 
setting sun. He gained the love of all, and his mas- 
ter IS as grieved at his loss as at that of a white 
friend. Take example from him. Bob died a Chris- 
tian ; he breathed his last in his master’s arms.” He 
finished, and, pressing the cold, hard hand, turned 
away to hide his emotion. The tears and expressions 
of grief were redoubled, and many a blessing for their 
kind master was mingled with those drops. 

From one end of the room arose a little old negro. 
He was a kind of opposition preacher, who seemed 
determined, even at the last moment, to have a say-so 
in the matter. All the evening, his brightness had 
been dimmed by the other preacher, and all he could 
do was to groan and blubber like the common nig- 
gers,” and in concert with them ; but now, seeing a 
cliance to slip in a word, he arose. He was a negro, 
who had been recently brought from the piney woods, 
and he determined that no coast nigger should outdo 
him. He began: 

“ My beloved friends, you is all heerd what mastei 


74 


THE CREOLE ORPHAlSrS. 


is said, and lie speaks de truth, de Lord knows. We 
all must ’member his words, and try and do every thing 
what he wants us. Poor old Bob is gone where he 
can’t get back ; but if his sperit is ’lowed to look 
down on this meeting, he is mightily pleased. Let us 
sing a hymn while de brethren makes de final ’rango- 
ments.” He then struck up a doleful, melancholy tune 
to the following words : 

“ Old Satan is like a howling dog, 

He thro wed blocks in my way ; 

Jesus was my bosom friend, 

And he cast dem all away. 

Oh Lord, remember me, 

Remember Calvary I 
And while you is a ’membrin’ round, 

Oh Lord, remember me. 

•‘As I was a lyin’ on my bed, 

A making my cries to de Lord ; 

He come and eased my akin’ head, 

Wid do sweetness of his word. 

Oh Lord, remembes me, 

Remember, etc, 

“You need not crave for richness, 

You need n’t to dress so fine, 

The crown that my Lord gib to me, 

The sun can’t neber outshine. 

Oh Lord, remember me, 

Remember,” etc. 

Both Colonel Ormond and Hartley were half inclined 
to laugh, as irreverent as it was, at this serio-comic 
song; but the negroes felt the inspiration, and entered 
into it with spirit, it being one of their own songs, the 
time, measure and words suiting them exactly ; and, 
indeed, it would be hard to induce them to believe the 
song was not truly orthodox, and one of the Church 
collection. 


THE CREOLE ORPHAITS. 75 

Mr. Laufre made a sign to Colonel Ormond, and 
'hey left the cabin, proceeding to the house. 

The negroes had now lit their torches, and the coffin, 
oeing fastened, final arrangements were made, refresh- 
ments were handed around, and a hush-light^ as it is 
called, was kindled before the cabin. This is a super- 
stition of the negroes, and, probably, derived from the 
remnant of some old custom in Africa. It is four 
small forks set in the ground, with cross pieces put on 
them, covered with earth ; the fat pine is then kindled, 
and constantly replenished. The superstition is, that 
the soul of the departed continues hovering over 
the remains until it is finally laid in the earth, and it 
then takes its flight. The light is for the purpose of 
allowing the spirit to have a good view'^of the opera- 
tions. It is called the “ death fire^ 

The gentlemen joined the ladies of the family in 
the gallery, when a conversation soon commenced ; but 
through the pauses could be heard the exhortations of 
some of the older negroes, and the bursts of grief of 
others, mingled with snatches of hymns, in which the 
solemn and ludicrous were strangely blended. One, 
which seemed to be a favorite, by the manner they all 
joined in it, struck Hartley as peculiarly droll. It 
ran thus — 

“Jesus, he died for me — e, 

Jesus, he died for you — ou, 

And he neber will die no more, 

Oh I Shepherdy war ar’ you— ou. 

You promised de Lor^ to take care of de Lamb^ 

And you let one go astray. 

“Yonder comes de carriage, 

Wid de inside filled wid love, 

De fore-wheels runs by faith. 

And de hind- wheels rolls by grace.” 

You promised,” etc. 


76 


THE CRfiOLE ORRHAHS. 


More was sung, winch he could not hear, as the 
torch-bearers gathered around the door ; and a inur- 
mur arose from the cabin — a dead silence followed— 
there were groans and lamentations, and at length the 
coflSn appeared borne by six negro men. The sight 
was novel and interesting — the dark and swarthy 
assembly — ^the black coffin, with its bearers — the flash- 
ing lights, casting a ruddy reflection over the whole 
scene ; and the various expressions of sorrow which, 
partly forced — for the negro is passionately attached 
to ceremony and pageantry — and partly pure, formed 
an exhibition that, to one of the gentlemen at least, 
was singularly interesting. 

This, I presume, is the first thing of the kind you 
have ever seen, Mr. Hartley,” remarked Mr. Laufre. 

“ It is ; and I must admit it is novel to me.” 

There is much of the ludicrous in their ceremony, 
to a refined taste, and to one who is unused to them.” 

“ Yes ; but I imagine an affecting earnestness which 
pleases me ; and they seem more taken with religion 
than I ever thought.” 

“ Why, sir, as to that, I believe I have among my 
negroes some who are religious, as far as negro nature 
will allow them to be, but they are very few.” 

Do you allow your negroes religious instruction?” 

‘‘ The condition of the negro is much meliorated in 
that respect; formerly they never knew what it was; 
but now, public sentiment among our planters has 
changed ; and there js scarcely a plantation which 
does not either have, on every other Sabbath, preach- 
ing to the negroes, on the place, or at a meeting-house 
in the neighborhood.” 

“ Do you think they are benefited ?” 

“ Most of them, sir, assume religion for a cloak ; 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


77 


but, on the whole, we think it in many instances 
benefits them.” 

“ I have been informed that the negro was pur- 
posely keptjn the darkest ignorance; and that they 
never had any privileges of this nature.” 

“They have religious instruction, sir; but they 
receive it very badly. It is not in their nature to be 
really pious, and the best observation will bear me 
out. You may have them gathered together and 
preached to — and prayed with — ^you may get them to 
shouting and yelling — turn them loose, and in an hour 
they will be found in a neighbor’s hen-roost, or among 
his young pigs. They are an incorrigible set ; but 
there are among them some good ones, just as there 
are some bad masters. As a rule, however, you will 
find that the planters of the South are constantly in- 
venting new plans for the melioration of the condition 
of the slave.” 

Just then, the bustle of the negroes at the Quarter 
ceased, and they at once proceeded to the grave, 
with slow and measured step. 

After an hour spent in pleasant discourse, Colonel 
Ormond proposed riding, and, refusing a kind invi- 
tation to stay all night, he and his guest mounted and 
rode off. 

Few words passed between them, for both were 
busy with their own thoughts. 


CHAPTER VIIL 


“ A man can smile and smile, and be a villain.* 

Servant. “There be a gentleman at the door come to see your honor.** 
Joconde. “Yes; well, what is he like ? yet stay, show him in.’* 

Unpdb. Drama. 

Colonel Ormond and Mr. Hartley readied 
home, they were informed that a stranger had 
arrived in the evening, but, as it was late, had then 
retired. 

The next morning Mr. Hartley was up early and 
taking a walk. He bent his steps toward tlie Quarter. 
In her gallery old Sally stood washing some common 
crockery before getting breakfast for the children and 
sick. She was humming a doleful kind of tune when 
Mr. Hartley came up. 

“Well, aunty,” he said, “how do you find yourself 
this morning ?” 

“Sarvant, sir,” she replied, courtesying very low ; 
“ bless de Lord I finds myself toleble well, ’cept a pain 
in de back, an a little pain in de head, an a mighty 
misery in my side.” 

“ Well, it appears to me,” said he, laughing, “ thal 
you must be be tolahbj bad off with all those pains.” 

“Yes, sir, tank God I is right bad off, but it can^t 
be ’spected to be any better, for I is a old cretur and 
has a heap to do.” 

“ I suppose you have a great deal depending on 
you.” 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


79 


“ Dat ’s de solemn trutli sir ; I has more to do an any 
nigger on dis place,* Master ’s promised time and agin 
to put somebody to help me, but nobody ever thinks 
of de poor ole nigger ’cept when dey wants ’em to do 
somethin.” 

What do you have to do ?” 

“ Why, sir, I has to tend in de hospital, and to de 
little niggers, and a heap ob oder things.” 

‘VYou appear to have plenty of time though.” 

“ Oh, yes, sir ! I has time to set down and rest, and 
I has old Aunt Dinah and Cinta to help me ’casionally 
when I wants ’em, for dey don’t do nothin’ ’cept lay up 
an grumble.” 

‘'You never grumble, Aunt Sally?” 

“No, sir, I doesent; ’t ain’t right.” 

Hartley laughed outright. “ Were you born in this 
country ?” 

“No, sir, thank God I ain’t no gray owl^ nigger, I 
come from old South Calliny, I did.” 

“I suppose you don’t like this country as much as 
you did ole South Calliny?” 

“ Lord, no, sir I It ’s a toleble good* country for 
some things and mighty bad for tothers. Ole South 
Calliny is a long ways head of dis country, dere ain’t 
no meetsketurs dar, and dere ain’t no lightood here, 
dat ’s de only ’jection to it.” 

“ What is lightood^ Aunt Sally ?” 

“Why, sir, don’t know what lightood is? it’s pine, 
fat pine, dat’s what ’tis.” 

“Oh, indeed! Well, are you a member of the 
church ?” 

“ Is you a preacher, sir?” answered she looking at 
him in a quizzical manner. 

* Creole. 


80 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


‘‘ No,” lie answered laugliiog, I am not, I wish I 
was.” 

‘‘ Well, no, I ain’t in de church, and I don’t want to 
be, for dere is more debilment carried on by dem what 
is in de church dan you knows on.” 

Aunt Sally you ought to join the church, it makes 
people better.” 

“ Ha, ha, ha,” laughed she. Why massa, you 
makes me laugh; de very niggers what makes de 
most fuss ’bout ’ligion is de very ones what ain’t 
got no more ’ligion dan a terripin ; dey rolls dey eyes 
up, but all de time dey is thinking of some debilment. 
and what dey kin steal ; no sir, dey puts on ’ligion 
like a nigger puts on a blanket — to hide de dirt.” 

“ Pierre belongs to the church, I believe?” 

“Pierre, Pierre? ha, ha I he Zambo nigger; Zambo 
ain’t got no soul ; and all de preaching Mr. Hickory- 
bottom do, ain’t goin’ to make him no better.” 

“Who is Mr. Hickory bottom?” 

“He is our preacher, a mighty good man, larns de 
little niggers dey catakiz, and preach twice a month, 
but it don’t do ’em any good.” 

“ Well, Aunt Sally, here is half a dollar to buy you 
a new handkerchief to go to meeting in.” 

The old woman eagerly clutched the money, and 
amid a profusion of thanks he turned away. 

When Colonel Ormond arose in the morning he 
found a card on his dressing-table bearing the name 
of Daniel Talbot^ Boston^' He rung the bell and 
Robert appeared. 

“ How came this here ?” he asked. 

“ The strange gentleman, sir, that came here last 
night, gave it to me, sir.” 

“When?” 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


81 


“ Last uigbt, sir.” 

'^Hem ! where is he?” 

In the parlor, sir, waiting for you.” 

“Very well, go and see that there is a fire in the 
room, and some late newspapers.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“ Talbot ! Talbot,” he exclaimed, as he gazed in au 
absent manner at the card which he held in his hand. 
“ Where have I heard that name ? It sounds familiar I 
By my soul, it can not be that he is one of the Talbots 
of Connecticut, one of our connections. Let me see, 
Talbot married a relation of ours ; he was from New 
England.” 

He arranged his toilet and descended the steps to the 
parlor. 

A young man of middle height, apparently of about 
twenty-six years, dressed in black, was leaning over a 
table attentively examining some prints. He arose 
when Colonel Ormond entered, and advanced — 

“ You have my card. Colonel Ormond, I presume.” 

“ Mr. Talbot, I am happy to know you, sir, and if 
I am not mistaken, you are a family connection.” 

“Even a relation, colonel,” he replied smiling, “for I 
am the son of a relation on the maternal side, and may 
be called a cousin.” 

“ As you are the first one whom I have ever kr^own, 
I shall be pleased to own the relationship. Bui have 
we any other relations in Boston ? 

“ None, nor in Connecticut ; I believe I am the only 
one.” 

“ How did you become aware of my residence i” 

“ Well, you must know that there is an old lad y in 
New York State, who is a connection of my moth^^’s ; 

T called on her, as I was on business, and she gav^ 

6 


82 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


a history of our whole family. I. took down your aa^ 
dress, and when I left Boston, a friend gave me a let- 
ter to a young man, who is a clerk in New Orleans. 
I presented my letter, and expressed my wishes ; he 
consulted a kind of directory, and we found your resi- 
dence in the city ; your agent told us where the plant- 
ation was.” 

“You have exhibited a good deal of tact, for a 
stranger,” said Colonel Ormond. 

“You forget that I am a Yankee,” replied he laugh- 
ing. 

“Well, I am glad you have done so, the more as 
you are the first of my relations who has ever been to 
the South. When did you arrive in New Orleans?” 

“A week ago, sir; I would have sought you out 
sooner, but I occupied myself in seeking for a situa- 
tion.” 

“You have then, no settled business, Mr. Talbot?” 

“ No, sir, I was engaged in the dry goods business in 
Boston, but was unfortunate.” 

“ The fate of many ; but I think you will find no 
difficulty in obtaining business in the city.” 

Here a servant entered and called Colonel Ormond 
out to attend to something, and Mr. Talbot was left 
alone. He sat awhile, and then timidly glanced 
around. 

“ A pretty fine old cock,” he said in a low voice, 
“ and seems to be a good liver ; I wonder if he has got 
any family ; I must look sharp, and act mighty polish- 
ed.” 

Colonel Ormond entered the room just afterward, 
and, as. he drew up his chair, remarked — “ Mr. Talbot, 
as you have not engaged in any business yet, I may be 
of service to you ; at any rate, you will remain with us 


THE CEEOLE ORPHANS. 


83 


until you do engage in something, for we of the South 
pride ourselves on our hospitality.” 

‘‘ Colonel, you are too kind,” remarked he, in an af- 
fected tone. 

1 beg you will not think so, sir.” ^ 

“Where did you leave your baggage?” he added, 
rising. 

“ I left it at the little town below here, where 1 
landed.” 

“ I will send a servant after it.” 

As Ormond passed through the library he found 
Marie in tears. He started back in astonishment, 
“Why, Marie, what is the cause of these tears? 
Speak !” he approached and spoke kindly to her. 

“ Oh, Charles,” she answered, raising her head, and 
looking earnestl}^ on him through her tears — “For- 
give me, I am foolish, I feel unhappy this morning, 
but the arrival of this stranger from the North, and, 
old Celeste’s prophecy.” The same idea at that moment 
struck Colonel Ormond, and he started as if stung by 
some reptile ; but, instantly recovering himself, he con- 
tinued : “ Nay, Marie, this is very childish, this arri- 
val of a mere j^outh, has no connection with that 
stuff. Come, Marie, remember that he is a relative, 
and I must insist that you treat him with respect.” 

“ Charles, you well know that your will is my law ; 
I have no doubt but I am wrong, but I can not help 
feeling sometimes that there is a sad future for us.” 

“ Do not give way to those fancies, Marie ; they are 
dangerous, remember ; there is a good and kind Being 
above^ who watches over us all ; trust in Him.” 

“ You arc right, Charles, you have taught me a es 


son.’ 


84 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


‘’There^ my Marie,” be answered, drawing her to- 
ward him, and her beautiful head falling on his bosom ; 
“come, don yourself in your most splendid robe, 
deck yourself in jewels, and come forth, in a blaze ol 
beauty, to astonish, and dazzle his cold Northern ini' 
agination.” She looked up fondly, and smiled at thia 
sally, while he pressed her ripe red lips, gazed on hei 
in admiration, and drank in her beauty. He then call- 
ed Pierre, and ordered him to go for the baggage of 
Mr. Talbot. 

When Talbot found himself alone, he arose, and a 
pleased expression passed over his features ; he glanced 
at a pier glass, which reflected his whole figure, and 
then stretched himself. 

“ Well,” he said “ this is a streak of luck sure, to find 
a good kind relative, and a nice comfortable home, all 
at once. This is better than standing behind a counter 
selling pins and tape, at fifteen dollars a month ; he 
looks like a jolly old fellow, and seems to have plenty 
of negroes ; I wonder how much he is worth. 

“And there,” he continued, walkiug to the window, 
“there’s the sugar-house, and the sugar-cane being 
made into sugar. I heard of a poor fellow once, who 
threw down his ox- whip, as the first steamboat passed 
down the river ‘ By gosh, I’ll have one of them things 
if it costs me fifty dollars.’ Now, like that fellow, I ’ll 
have one of them things, if it costs me my life. How 
grand it must make a man feel, to look around, and 
know that all he sees is his. W ell, I will play the 
moral good boy, and see what can be made out of it.” 

With this worthy determination, he walked up and 
down the room, and ruminated on the prospects which 
seemed to be opening on him. Some twenty minutes 
passed in this manner, when Colonel Ormond again 


tSiJ CilEOLE ORI^HANg S5 

^^ntered the room. He drew up a chair to the fire, and 
the two were soon engaged in a desultory conversation, 
which lasted until breakfast. During the first moments 
of their acquaintance, Ormond did not have leisure to 
mark individual peculiarities, as they presented them- 
selves, or to give his guest so attentive a scrutiny as 
now. 

In person, as we have said, Talbot was of medium 
height, his face was long, and rather wide at the angle 
of the jaws. His eyes were deeply set in their orbits, 
and of a light gray. The lips were thin, and drawn 
tightly around the teeth, which were white, even and 
brilliant, and were exhibited in laughing and speak- 
ing. The chin was sharp and peaked and thin, the 
neck long and slim. His hair was a light brown and 
worn short. There was a restlessness, an uneasy 
wandering of the eyes, an aversion to meet a fair and 
honest gaze, and while Colonel Ormond was easy and 
self-possessed, he appeared as if ill at ease. He had a 
look of intelligence and conversed well, but it was a 
kind of low, hang-dog, sneaking intelligence, a kind of 
prudent, careful weighing out of words, as if cautious 
of committing himself ; as if all his actions were gov- 
erned by a hidden movement, a powerful but concealed 
spring. 

To one who was suspicious, those restless eyes and 
twitching hands, the puckered lips and cautious speech, 
would have afforded matter for speculation ; but Colo- 
nel Ormond was all honor, and never dreamed of the 
true character of the viper he was about to nestle in 
his bosom. He little dreamed that the demon, which 
ruled the soul of his guest was avarLe. Boin and 
raised in a circle which was far below indcpei^dence, 
he had looked up to the wealthy as great and happy 


86 THE CREOLE ORRHAlTS.. 

beings in a different sphere. He acted accordingly 
To his superiors, he was a sneaking and submissive 
slave, a fawning hypocrite ; to his inferiors, he was 
haughty and imperious, heartless and cruel. 

He had intelligence enough, though, to conceal the 
failings which he was conscious of possessing. He 
even sometimes tried to subdue them. He had some 
accomplishments, and quite a good education ; he drew 
very well and played the flute. He also had a good 
mechanical turn, and had made many friends among 
the children, by the dexterity with which he used his 
knife in carving curious things in wood. But he 
lacked a high and manly principle, did not observe 
the truth, and, in regard to honor, he could not com- 
prehend the term, he could use the word in its right 
place, speak volubly about it and assume an ingenuous 
air ; but the conception of the principle was beyond 
his power. 

As Colonel Ormond surveyed the countenance of 
his guest, he experienced a strange, unaccountable feel- 
ing of shrinking and repugnance, as if he had touched 
a venomous reptile, and he almost repented the hasty 
invitation he had given ; but when he reflected a mo- 
ment, he felt half ashamed of these emotions, and 
reasoned with himself that he saw through a dis- 
torted medium, that he was prejudiced, and he even 
hastened to make up by kindness his want of generos- 
ity. But, although he endeavored to conquer his prej- 
udices, still he could not hide from himself the fact 
that he did not like his kinsman. 

Talbot, on the other hand, cast furtive glances at 
his companion, for he could not bear the calm, steady, 
placid look of Colonel Ormond. He did not dislike 
him, but he felt Bumbled by the contrast; and a 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


87 


species of malicious envy sprang up in his breast, as 
ne thought of the vast difference between them in the 
scale of social being, and of the supposed wealth and 
importance of his host ; and he expressed a mental 
wish that he might profit by the connection. Talbot 
was possessed of a deep and shrewd cunning, and hid 
within his own bosom his evil thoughts and feelings. 

Breakfast was now announced, and Mr. Hartley came 
in. Talbot was presented as a relative by Colonel 
Ormond. 

Hartley was a far-seeing man, and instinctively dis- 
liked Talbot from the first, and imagined that he saw 
in the workings of his countenance the symptoms of 
a debased and double-dealing mind. But these fancies 
he suppressed in their birth, for he was a high-bred 
gentleman. 

The three breakfasted alone ; in fact, Ormond was 
embarrassed in what manner to present Marie to him. 
As his wife, he could not, for he loathed deception, 
and he shrunk from stating in broad -terms their con- 
nection and Marie’s condition. He loved her with de- 
votion, and she deserved it, and he now more than 
ever regretted the procrastination of a necessary step, 
in regard to her, which he knew sooner or later must 
be taken. 

Hartley had never been regularly presented to her, 
but his own observation and good sense made him 
comprehend in a short time how^ matters stood ; he 
saw that she was gloriously beautiful, and wondered 
why Colonel Ormond did not publicly acknowledge 
her as his wife, but he kept those thoughts to himself. 
He had been enlightened by Dr. Grant, who, jealous 
of the honor of his friend, in a delicate manner hinted 


88 


THE CBEOt E Oftf B A STS 


at it. Hartley understood him, and when ne he neet 
her, it was with profound respect. 

Marie often took her meals in her own room, and it 
caused no surprise that she did not appear on this 
morning. 

Talbot was advised by Colonel Ormond to ride over 
and superintend the removal of his baggage himself. 

An hour after breakfast he was sitting on the gallerj 
indulging in his cigar, when Dr. Grant rode up. He 
was glad of it, for Colonel Ormond had ridden a por- 
tion of the way with Talbot, and he was entirely 
alone. 

“Well, Mr. Hartle}^” he exclaimed familiarly, as 
he threw his bridle over a picket, “how are you this 
morning ? I thought I would ride over, see you all, 
and chat a while. But who is that gander-shanked 
chap who is going along the road with Ormond? I 
saw them as I came through the field.’’ 

“ Oh, he is a relative ; a fresh Yankee just caught.” 

“Phew!” whistled the doctor. “Well — they do 
make some queer ones up there sure, and I don’t like 
his looks certainly.” 

“ Nor do I ; but it would scarcely become me to say 
It.” 

“ What is he doing here ?” 

“ God knows ; I came in this morning, and he was in 
the parlor ; he may have sprung from the ground, but 
I think he has just arrived from the North.” 

“ Well, I never knew before that Ormond ever had 
any relatives.” 

“ Doctor, you do not look as well as you did, when 1 
last saw you.” 

“ It is anxiety, Mr. Hartley,” he answered, becoming 
grave. “ The health of my wife is bad ; indeed, I am 


TflE ORPHANS. 


89 


afraid it is declining daily ; she has a very severe pain 
Ji her chest, and a cough ; consumption is hereditary.*’ 
I hope your anxiety has exaggerated her disease.” 

“ God grant that it may, Mr. Hartley ; but I have 
serious thoughts of going to Havana for her health.* 
He paused a while, and silently meditated, then sud 
denly exclaimed : “ How long do you remain with us^ 
Mr. Hartley ?” 

“I fear doctor that my stay is limited ; I came here, 
a perfect stranger, at the invitation of Colonel Ormond, 
and I am only allowing time to receive replies to my 
letters on business ; but, doctor, go where I may, I never 
bhall forget the noble kindness and courtesy, I have 
I'Kjeived at his hands. He is all that a man could 
VI ish to be.” 

“ I fully agree with you, Mr. Hartley, and, I appre- 
ci \te as fully as you, the excellence of our friend ; but, 
bj the way,” he added, “what a pity it is, that he is 
pL ced in such a situation in regard to a woman every 
war worthy to become his wife!” 

* ' Why is it that he hesitates in the matter ?” 

‘ Simply shame, dislike to give eclat to the fact that 
whe is not his wife, and still a slave.” 

“ [ndeed 1” 

“ YeSj and more the shame ; I have reasoned with 
him ftbout it, and he has promised me that he will very 
Booii carry it into effect, but alas I — this Southern failing, 
procrastination. But Mr. Hartley, I am sorry you are 
thinking of going so soon ; I was in hopes of having 
you with us for some time.” 

“ I thank you, doctor ; but it is important that I re- 
turn North soon ; I am settling up my own affairs, and 
it is probable that I may return, and live permanently 


90 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


in the South ; I find the winters at the North are too 
severe for me.” 

“ Yes, and the manners and customs, also.” 

*‘Oh, you forget that I am a native of the North.” 

“ Ay, but you take to the South, naturally.” 

“ I like it extremely, I admit.” 

“ To return to Ormond,” said the doctor, lowering 
his voice, “ you see what a very disagreeable situation 
it places him in.” 

“ It certainly does.” 

“ And she is so handsome, and good, and so accom- 
plished. You have conversed with her?” 

Seldom ; but I perceive she is educated.” 

“ In point of beauty, she excels any thing I ever 
saw ; her countenance is so expressive, and Madonna- 
like, so pensive and sweet.” 

“Well it is a great pity. Here is a noble, whole-souled 
fellow, he loves a woman who is as beautiful as a houri, 
and as good as an angel ; and still he can’t present 
her as his wife, when she would be well received in any 
society. Here she is without company, and must be 
ennuied to death.” 

“ And they have two as beautiful children as I ever 
saw.” 

“ Ormond is not really ashamed to acknowledge her; 
for matches of this kind are common in the West In- 
dies, and even in this State ; she is fair too. 

“ I admire that peculiar rich tint; it shows a warm, 
and generous blood. She is a Creole, is she not ?” 

“A Creole I” laughed the doctor. “You Northern 
people always commit an error about that. You think 
a Creole is a Mulatto, but of a very light color ?” 

“ Yes, certainly, is it not so?” 

“ No, a Creole is a mere term taken from the Span- 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


91 


isli, meaning a native descended from European ances- 
tors. Now some would suppose her a Quadroon, 
which is seven eighths white and one eighth black ; but 
she is not. She is a Quinteroon, fifteen sixteenths 
white, and one sixteenth black. There are many such 
in our State, and no one even thinks of casting a re- 
proach on them.” 

“Well, she is a dignified lady, and would do honor 
to any circle.” 

“ My sentiments exactly ; but I understand you were 
over at Laufre’s, at Bob’s fmieral?” 

“ Yes, Colonel Ormond and I rode over.” 

“ Well, Mr. Hartley, let us walk.” 

Accordingly, they sauntered out, and slowly walked 
to the river. As they reached the bank, Louis La- 
motte rode up. He leaped from his horse with grace, 
and came forward, saluting them both. He was a great 
favorite with the doctor, who replied to him kindly. 
He had a string of snipe, which he had shot that morn- 
ing, to present to Marie. After a few words, he left 
them for more pleasant society, and the gentlemen con- 
tinued their walk. 


CHAPTER IX. 


“ Yet had he friends 

Ajid they went forth to cheer him on his wny.** 

H. 

A FTER dinner, Colonel Ormond requested Dr. Grant 
^ to walk with him. They went into the garden, 
and in a sheltered nook surrounded by arbores-vitae;' 
they seated themselves. 

‘‘Doctor,” he said, with hesitation, “I fear you will 
think me a great fool ; but I have placed myself in a 
ridiculous position.” The doctor remained silent, for 
he knew what was coming. “ The fact is I have been 
a fool,” resumed he, after waiting a moment to see if 
the doctor would speak. “ I have extended an invi- 
tation to a young man who comes from the North, 
and claims to be a kinsman, without taking into con- 
sideration the situation I occupy in regard to Marie. 
Now, doctor, we have been fast friends for a number 
of years, and I feel that I can unbosom myself to you • 
I owe justice to her.” 

“You do, Ormond, you do,” replied he earnestly, 
“ and it is a shame on your manhood that you have 
not long ago consummated your union; the sooner 
you have this long- retarded justice done the better; I 
speak plainly, and use the language of a friend, Or- 
mond.” 

“ That is as it should be, doctor, but you well know 
that my delay has been caused by — ” 


THE CBEOLE OKPHANS. 


93 


“ Your old habit of procrastination ; why, Ormond, 
if you did not have an overseer, your plantation would 
not bring you in seed corn ; you take things too easy, 
and defer what you should attend to ; it is indolence 
and a reluctance to blazon forth this matter,” 

‘‘ Doctor, you have judged me rightly in this matter 
and I see I must, I must attend to it.” 

Do it for your own sake, Ormond ; do it for hers ; 
foi your children ; make them legitimate.” 

I am a blind fool and an idiot!” passionately ex- 
claimed Ormond, who, although generally calm, was, 
when aroused, of a hurricane mood. ‘‘But, doctor, 
this fellow Talbot — it is necessary as long as he remains 
heie, that he should sometimes meet her, and then 
you know the negroes — ^the truth will out.” 

“I understand you,” said the doctor, “and I agree 
V/ ith you, it is much better that the truth should be 
told him. I will undertake the matter if he does not 
{already know it.” 

“ I leave it to you, doctor.” 

“ I will attend to it.” 

“ I thank you ; I do not know why it is, but to this 
person I have taken a slight dislike, an aversion. 1 
am ashamed to own it, but there is a something about 
him which I can not fathom. He appears amiable 
enough, and tolerably intelligent, but there is a dull, 
restless motion in his eyes ; withdraw your attention, 
and he is gazing at you with a dark and subtle mean- 
ing.” 

“You have explained the feelings of Mi. Hartley, 
but as for me I don’t attach so much importance to 
this sans pareille of yours. He is a raw Yankee boy, 
with a very disagreeable countenance. But, Ormond, 
there is this thing to be taken into consideration. If 


94 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


he is now an unimportant individual, he may come 
in as your heir.’’ 

“How do you mean thatf' answered Colonel Or 
mond, with a puzzled look. 

“Simply this, Ormond. You are posseb^ca of vaiM- 
ble property ; you die ; your wife and children are noi 
tniancipated. She is a slave ; your children are illegiti- 
mate. They can no% according to the laws of Louisiana^ 
become your heirs. The property consequently goes *o the 
nearest collateral heir. Who is he? He is here! Will 
you hesitate longer now ?” 

“ Good Heavens ! doctor, to what an awful precipice 
you have dragged me ; what a horrid picture you 
have drawn I” 

“ Only Ormond, that you may avoid the danger, 
and take warning from the scene I have painted.” 

“ I can hesitate no longer,” cried he, with the veins 
on his forehead swollen, and his eyes flashing brightly. 
“ I will at once go to the city I I will flice degradation 
and endure shame for the sake of those I love.” 

“ Calm yourself, Ormond ! while I live your chil- 
dren have a friend, even if they have no other.” 

Ormond pressed his hand silently, and with the un- 
derstanding that a communication would be made to 
Talbot, they separated. 

When they met in the gallery, a cool glass of claret 
awaited them. 

“ Mr. Hartley,” said Colonel Ormond, “ I have a let- 
ter for you;” he handed it to him. The seal wa.^ 
broken. 

“I fear now, colonel, that my visit can not be pro- 
longed at present,” said he to Ormond, at the same 
time handing him the letter. “I have no longer an 
excuse for tarrying.” 


THE CBEOLE ORPHANS. 


95 


Colonel Ormond returned the letter. An inquiry 
was now made for Talbot, but he was nowhere to be 
found. In a short time he came in, saying that he 
had been taking a stroll over to the sugar-house. But 
this was false. 

About ten minutes previous to the conversation we 
have noted as occurring in the garden, Talbot walked 
into it, invited by the beauty of a clump of cape jes- 
samine ; he sat down on a seat placed there and fell 
into a reverie. He had not been there long before he 
heard the sound of voices in earnest conversation ; his 
first impulse was to escape their observation ; but this 
he could not do without exposing himself to the 
charge of eaves dropping ; and, thinking perhaps that 
he might become possessed of some secret, kept his 
station. Suddenly he felt an electric thrill which 
seemed to startle every nerve in his body, and made 
him tremble and gasp for breath. He heard the words 
distinctly uttered by Dr. Grant. “ You are possessed 
of valuable property ; you die ; your wife and children 
are not emayicipated. She is a slave ; your children are 
illegitimate. They can not, according to the laws of Louis- 
iana, become your heirs. The property goes to the nearest 
collateral heir. Who is he ? He is here 

These words were heard by him in his place of con- 
cealment, and they astounded and confused him. As 
the poor miner, delving for years in the vast cave, is 
bewildered and stupified by the glorious light of day 
when suddenly seen, he was in a like manner taken 
by surprise at the bright prospect unexpectedly opened 
before his gaze. A light had been shed on his path, 
and it seemed that nothing was necessary but to follow 
it. His dreams would be realized, he would roll in 
gold, and his ambition, the dream of years, be satisfied 


96 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


The one object of his life was now to play for this 
grand stake ; and to its successful accomplishment, he 
determined to devote all his powers. He felt that he 
mighty by a certain combination of circumstances^ within 
his control j be the heir! The thread of his future life 
was spun ; he could see the end, bright and glorious. 

In the evening. Dr. Grant asked him to walk. Dur- 
ing the stroll, he introduced the subject. “ Mr. Talbot” 
said he, think it is my duty, to prevent any painful 
mistake on your part, to state to you the position of 
the lady of this house; she is not Colonel Ormond’s 
wife.” This Talbot already knew, as he had pumped 
Pierre in the morning, going to town. 

^‘It is common in this country, and the West Indies, 
for persons to live together as man and wife when 
they are not really married and their union has not 
been blessed by the church ; this is their condition.” 

‘‘I am much gratified, doctor,” said he, in an inno- 
cent manner, “that you have explained this matter to 
me, and feel obliged to you for it.” 

“ It is due to you, Mr. Talbot, as a relative ; you will 
know how to treat her and the children.” 

“ Oh, as to that, doctor, I shall treat her with all the 
respect I would, were she his own wife really; and, 
the children as relatives.” 

“ By so doing you will please Ormond, and gain his 
friendship.” 

It was with pain that Colonel Ormond heard the de- 
termination of Mr. Hartley expressed, of going the 
next morning to the city, and thence returning to the 
North ; for he had, by his gentle deportment, and ur- 
bane manners, won considerably on him, and he used 
many arguments to induce him to prolong his visit. 

He replied by expressing how much enjoyment he 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


97 


had had, and pledged himself again, if ciicuiixstaiicea 
permitted, to return to the South. 

Marie spent this evening in the gallery with the 
gentlemen, accompanied by the children. The conver* 
sation flowed along in a gentle, pleasing manner ; each 
tried to confer pleasure on the otheis. Even Talbot, 
for the time, ceased brooding over his projects, and for- 
got, for a season, the objects of his passion. 

Such moments seldom occur, but when they do, they 
mark a passage in a man’s life ; they come like the 
sweet songs of angels ; their influence lingers around us 
like a pleasing dream ; and, as life advances, their 
memory grows sweeter and sweeter. And this recol- 
lection clings to us like some dreamy half forgotten 
strain of music. But these moments never return. 

Like the wearied mariner, toi,sed about by wind and 
wave in the waste of waters, we find ourselves suddenly 
becalmed near some sweet placid isle, where the hues 
of the violet and the tropical green are mingled with 
the many colored tints of a Southern clime. The 
wind freshens, and it is passed, the illimitable ocean is 
around us, but the sweet remembrance of that fair isle, 
its soft balmy shore, and its tiny wavelets breaking in 
fairy grottos, clings around us forever. 

Hartley felt, in separating next morning from his 
generous hosts, a feeling of sadness ; they kindly pressed 
him to remain, yet he could not; he mounted his 
horse, and rode away — -yet one more look ; they stood 
in a family group in the gallery, gazing after him ; the 
orange boughs waved in the breeze, and seemed to bid 
him farewell. A sigh escaped from his bosom, men- 
tally he blessed the family altar, he urged on his steed, 
and was seen no more. 

“ Mr. Talbot,” said Colonel Ormond, one morning, 


98 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


after breakfast, “you must amuse yourself as you best, 
can; use no ceremony, be at home, and let not any 
forms restrict your enjoyment. There are guns, and, 
you have a horse at your service. You will find plen- 
ty of game back of the plantation, and old Pierre, a 
negrc whom you will find about the Quarter, will be 
your attendant.” 

He replied in a suitable manner, and the color el rode 
out to attend to plantation dutiea 


CHAPTER X. 


“ Leave u% not yet — ^through rosy skies from &r, 

But now the song-birds to their nest return; 

The quivering image of the first pale star 
On the dim lake yet scarce begins to bum ; 

Leave us not yet” 

TT was evening; the sun was flinging a flood of gold- 
^ en radiance over all nature ; the trees, the water, all 
caught a tinge of the crimson hue, as the declining orb 
slowly sunk into his bath of glory. Marie was sitting 
in the gallery reading ; the children were playing in the 
yard below. Colonel Ormond rode up, and Marie de- 
scended the steps to meet him. 

‘‘Marie,” he exclaimed, taking both her hands in his, 
and looking into her face ; “I have some news for you.” 

“ I can not imagine it.” 

“Well, then, Louis Lamotte is going to Paris. Hia 
guardian has consented at my request to send him, so 
you see the children will have a companion on their 
voyage,” 

“ r am delighted at it,” replied she, smiling, at the 
name time placing in his hand a note. 

He read it. 

“ Monsieur le Colonel, and Madame Marie : — I am 
certain of setting out for Paris, by the tenth of next 
month. If you will entrust your children to my care 
I will treat them as my own, and I will, as well as mad- 
ame, be proud of your confidence. You will please 


100 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


write me, and advise of your determination, and 
when you will be in the city. Accept the regards of 
your friend • 

“ Jacques Ciralle ” 

“You give me a Eoland for my Oliver,” said he, 
laughing, “but I suppose it is the best we can do, 
although it is distressing to separate from them.” 

“ Oh, Charles I you feel doubtless ; but what is your 
grief to a mother’s. You can ride about over the 
plantation, attend to your duties, see company, hunt, 
fish, and go to town. I am alone ; I am sad and soli- 
tary ; I go from room to room ; 1 miss the silvery tone 
of happy voices, the light merry laugh, the tender 
caress at night, when, like white doves, they fold up 
their wings for rest ; I miss the murmured prayer ; I 
turn from room to room with a shudder ; I feel as if 
they were dead, for no gentle hand presses mine, and 
says, ‘ Mother P These things I feel.” 

“Well, Marie,” replied he, speaking gravely and 
kindly, “ since you take it so much to heart, do not 
send them away ; keep them and get a governess.” 

“No, Charles, I can make this sacrifice for their 
sake. I am ready to send them.” 

“Zoe! Estelle!” cried he to the children. They 
sprang toward him, for his voice h^d never been 
raised in unkindness to them ; flowers were scattered 
on the ground, and playthings overturned at that 
voice. 

He caught them up in his arms, they pressed their 
pure little rosy lips to his, and Zoe gazed at him with 
her great “ dreamy eyes,” wondering why he was sc 
serious. Estelle ran her hands into his locks, and 
leaned fondly on him. 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS 


101 


“Zoe,” lie said, at length, ^‘are you and Estelle 
willing to go to school 

‘‘We would wish to go, papa,” said they both. 

“ Do you know you will have to cross the great 
eea?” 

“ Yes,” replied Zoe, “ but mother says God is going 
with us, and we will be happy.” 

Ormond smiled at this naive remark. “ God ia 
every where, my child ; and on the ocean, or at home, 
never forget to thank him for all his kindness.” 

“ We do thank him, papa. Mother makes us ask 
the good God to bless you, and she prays for you so 
sweetly.” 

Ormond placed them down gently ; that remark, so 
simple and unaffected, showing the purity of woman’s 
devotion, touched his heart, and he walked out on the 
river bank : his breast was full. 

That night he sat down and wrote to M. Ciralle, 
thanking him for his offer, and embracing it. He also 
sent a note the next morning to M. Le Baron, Louis’ 
guardian, expressing a wish that Louis might be allowed 
to go over on the same vessel with his children. 

Some days passed away, and no change occurred 
among our characters. Marie, as usual, occupied her- 
self in needlework and in preparing for Zoe’s and 
Estelle’s departure, and often in instructing them in 
their religious duties. She never allowed an opportu- 
nity to pass without inculcating upon their minds 
some holy truth or pious precept, for she was truly 
religious, although she did not appertain to any church. 
Bred and educated in the tenets of the Catholic faith, 
she had in her earlier intercourse with Ormond been 
startled by the principles of his creed. She had read 
and conversed with others on doctrinal points, and 


102 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


although not abjuring the Eomish Churcli entirely, 
she ceased to be an attendant at the confessional. The 
general principles of the sect she adhered to and be- 
lieved in ; hence her reason why a Catholic institution 
was preferred. 

Colonel Ormond divided his time between Dr. Grant 
and Mr. Herndon, but often took Talbot with him to 
the neighbors, where lie was always introduced as his 
relative. When not occupied thus, Talbot was hunt- 
ing or fishing, away back in the recesses of the swamp, 
with old Pierre for his attendant, who was in his eyes 
the hero of a hundred tales. 

When he was in the company of Marie, he assumed 
so different a character from his own, that she ceased 
to regard him with that strange feeling of repugnance 
and anxiety which he at first inspired. He even be- 
came a favorite with the children ; he gathered flowers 
for them, and wove them into garlands ; he carved 
pieces of wood into toys and crosses, and made a 
thousand fantastic forms of them. He would sit for 
hours with his pencil and colors, and form some brib 
liant picture with vivid hues, to captivate their senses. 
He gave Zoe, as the eldest, drawing lessons, under 
which she soon exhibited a rare and delicate taste ; or 
he would get them near him, and plait willow baskets 
for Estelle, and seem to listen with pleasure to her ex- 
pressions of delight ; and then at other times he would 
please them by the sound of the flute. But although 
he thus gained on their esteem, there was one whom 
he could not conciliate — that was Louis. Do what he 
would, Louis ever repelled his advances, but in a polite 
and courteous manner. With Talbot he was grave, 
thoughtful and reserved ; but with others he was as 
gay and cheerful as a happy disposition and good 


THi: cheole orphans. 


103 


temper could make him. Talbot could not but ob- 
serve it, and he secretly hated him for it. 

Louis could not understand his feelings in regard to 
this man; he could not analyze his sensations; he 
only knew that as two opj^osite elements brought into 
contact will not unite, so it was with them ; he had 
nothing in common with him ; but they could not 
mingle, and he disliked him instinctively from the 
first. 

Before the family, Talbot’s face wore the simple 
manners of a well-meaning but not profound man ; 
his actions were common-place ; his conduct exhibited 
nothing marked, save a disposition to please ; but it 
was in the solitude of his chamber, when he was hid- 
den from all human eyes, when no one was near to 
mark his actions, and betray the hidden secrets of his 
soul : then, standing at the window of his room, did 
he gaze over the fair fields fruitful with teeming crops; 
then would the inward workings of his passions come 
forth; then would he murmur at that Providence 
which had so liberally endowed another, and put the 
curse of poverty on himself ; then would his form ex- 
pand, his chest heave, and his eye light up with a 
fiendish glare, and thoughts as dark as night chase 
each other through his brain. 

Thus remained matters for some weeks, during 
which time arrangements for the final departure of 
Zoe and Estelle were consummated. Nothing remained 
but to allow the period to elapse until the sailing of 
the ship; every one seemed to be in a bustle, and 
busy for some time previous. There was a packing 
and unpacking of boxes, a putting up of summer 
clothes, and laying out of thicker ones ; then a substi- 
tution of thin ones again, as a thought of a warm day 


104 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


at sea suggested itself. There was a making up or 
the toilet, and a thousand little things done which 
might have been let alone. Even old Sally forgot to 
grumble, and walked into the house half a dozen times 
a day, with an apron full of lavender, rue, or sweet 
marjorum, “ to pack de childeii’s close m,” and which 
Marie would take to keep from hurting the old thing's 
feelings, long after every thing was packed and ready 
to be sent off. Pierre wiped his eyes with the cuff of his 
jacket, and brought a lot of pecans “ to keep the little 
misses from bein’ hongry on de road.” Sylvia occupied 
her time in scolding the other servants, crying until 
her eyes were as red as a water turtle’s, and in pack- 
ing up. 

But all things will have an end, and so did this. 
The fatal day at length arrived. During this and the 
preceding one a watch had been kept up on the river 
bank; and it was not until the evening of the second 
day, that the cry of the little negroes of, “ De steam- 
boat coming !” warned Colonel Ormond, that now indeed 
the first step was to be taken. Marie wept an abund- 
ance of tears, as she took the children in the garden, 
for the last time ; and, under the old oaks, she once 
more impressed upon their minds the great truths she 
had tried to implant there, in her many conversa- 
tions. There, under the deep shade of those old trees, 
did she, this pure mother, and her young children, hold 
sweet converse, to serve for perhaps many years — per- 
haps forever I There in that sweet spot, familiar by a 
thousand joyful associations ; sacred by a mother’s holy 
love ; did they cling to each other, and mingle a sacred 
grief at quitting such a home, it might be, never to re- 
turn; its joys, and cares, its pleasant hours; its flowers 
and birds, were to be to them no more. 


THE CREOLE ORPHAKS. 


105 


** Gloom is upon thy lonely hearth, 

Oh silent house I once filled with mirth ; 

Sorrow is in the breezy sound, 

Of thy tall poplars whispering round.” 

And thus it was until Colonel Ormond found them; 
and they accompanied him to the landing. 

The boat was nearing the shore ; the white flag 
waved, and the sonorous tones of her great bell replied ; 
the white wreaths of steam arose ; she glided along and 
turned in to the bank. The baggage was piled up on 
the wharf, which ran out a few feet into the river. 
Then came a crowd of negroes, old and young, yel- 
low and black, all surrounding the party, almost suffo- 
cating them ; and each desirous of bidding a personal 
farewell to the children. They all were sorry, many 
cried bitterly, and the whole made a great deal of noise ; 
each one too was emulous of being distinguished by 
their greater attention. Some brought pecans, some 
sugar-cane, and some a bunch of violets, even one a 
young bird. Old Sally had brought a memento. 

“ Here, Miss Estelle,’’ she exclaimed, Dis is de last 
laying of ‘ old Frizzly,^ I was gwine to set em, but I 
fotch ’em for you to member old Sally by,” and here 
slie forced into her hand the handle of a basket con- 
taining about a dozen fresh eggs. Estelle looked up, 
and burst out laughing, but took them. Poor old 
thing I in the simplicity of her heart, she thought it a 
suitable present. 

Then came the last parting, and the tears, and shak- 
ing of hands, and then it was all over ; the planks 
were drawn on board, the big bell sounded, and they 
were on the bosom of the muddy Mississippi. The 
gills were out on the guards waving a last farewell ; 
there they stood, answered by a hundred adieus and 


106 


THE CREOLE ORPfiAJ^S, 


the waving of many hands; the voicei, sounded faint- 
er amid the rush of steam, the crowd grew more indis- 
tinct, and at last dwindled down to a confused mass ; a 
bend in the river shut them out from sight, and all 
was over. The poor children retired to their state- 
room to weep. 

Talbot had stood by during the parting, and Ins 
heart beat too, he scarce knew why. Colonel Ormond 
requested him to come to New Orleans in a few days 
after they had left, so as to allow him time to see the 
children off ; and he would try and procure him a sit- 
uation in some house in the city. 

As had been agreed upon, Louis Lamotte was to ac- 
company them ; and Colonel Ormond therefore re- 
quested the captain of the steamer to land at Le Ba- 
ron’s plantation. Accordingly, as she hove in sight, 
her bell again slowly sounded out the warning. Dr. 
Grant was standing on the levee, with Louis beside 
him, and there was the portly form, and good-humored 
countenance, the grizzled whiskers d la militaire^ and 
the broad brimmed hat of Mr. Le Baron. A happy 
vsmile of joy lit up the countenance of Louis as he rec- 
ognized the faces of Zoe and Estelle, who were stand- 
ing on the guards, with old Sylvia. The steamer 
rounded to, there was another greeting — another part- 
ing, and awa}" plunged the good boat, freighted with 
many anxious souls. 

Dr. Grant remained on board ; he was to accompany 
them to the city; and Louis and himself sought the 
ladies cabin. As soon, however, as the doctor was 
free, he and Ormond might be seen strolling down to- 
ward the bar for a little toddy, a cigar, and a hand in 
one of the numerous card parties; this is life on the 
Mississippi. 


okeole orphans. 


107 


It was morning again, radiant and cheerful ; the sun- 
liglit sparkled on the water, and the pleasant breeze 
came refreshingly up, wafting on its wings the fragrance 
of a far-off field of flowers from some bright little 
isle. New Orleans was in sight ! Oh what a variety 
of faces that announcement aroused ; how many anx* 
iously crowded forward to catch a first glimpse of the 
metropolis of the land of flowers ! To our party, it 
told of an early separation which made Marie’s heart 
bound tumultuously in her bosom. To some it spoke 
of a meeting with long severed friends. See the un- 
couth jouth with the brass watch-chain, there by the 
bar, trying to smoke a common cigar. See the lights 
and shadows on his countenance ; but see the smile of 
conscioutJ security which mingles with all. What does 
it denote? Why he has come South at the invitation 
of a friend of his father, to be put as a clerk in his 
store. Me is provided for ; let him pass. 

Turn your gaze now on that red-headed youth ; see 
his dress ; look at the assurance of the cast of his 
beaver ; see that air of nonchalance he tries to assume, 
with his thumbs in the arm-holes of his red waistcoat. 
He. seems to look down on all around him, as he puts 
the gold head of his cane to his mouth ; but, with all 
his sang froid, he is excited. 

He is a member of one of the first families of Fir- 
giniaJ^ A brother left the clay hills of the Old Do- 
minion years ago, to seek his fortune. Time rolled on 
and fortune smiled ; brother after brother came out, 
and all succeeded; some are merchants, some in 
banks ; but never mind, they are men every inch, and 
now here is the Joseph of the flock ; he has come with 
all his pride of birth and high family notions, to be 
made a man of in his turn. But here is another char 


108 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


acter ; look at that comical plnz — that inimitable grin, 
and that air of independence ; see his dress, made at 
home, woven and spun by rosy cheeked and cherry - 
lipped sisters; look at those metal buttons big enough 
for saucers; coat, vest and pants, all the same, and 
that unapproachable hat “Bar-keeper, I guess I’ll 
take a cigar — ^how much dew ye ask for ’em ? Gosh I 
I can’t stand that I whar I come from yeou can git 
tew for a cent.” Some day you may find him presi- 
dent of a bank. 

But who is that young handsome fellow with 
new hat, fine pantaloons and elegant boots? He ip 
lounging in one chair, and his legs thrown carelessly 
over the back of another ; his eyes are half shut, and 
he indolently smokes, as if it were a labor ; see his 
languid air. He is the son of a cotton-planter, and is 
going to buy more niggers to raise more cotton, to buy 
more Triggers with. Do you see that person near him, 
with the shad-bellied coat, white hat, and crape around 
it, bright buttons, and a profusion of jewelry ? He is 
a human shark, a gambler; he has his eye on the 
aforesaid young man. A social game will be intro- 
duced, and the gold will fly; maybe his indulgent 
father will not see much of the money for the draft he 
gave him for the balance of his crop ; it will melt 
away, and go as easy as the half dollar he carelessly 
throws to the waiter who brushes Kis pants. Here are 
many more characters. There is a young doctor, who 
can scarcely decide whether he will oust the house- 
surgeon of the Charity Hospital, or settle in the coun- 
try ; and if the latter, he can not decide to what por- 
tion to give the benefits of his vast stores of knowl- 
edge. There is a young lawyer, a graduate of Cam- 
bi'idgp, going to settle somewhere* and here is the 


THE CREOLE ORPHAN'S. 


109 


dapper clerk from Philadelphia; here the broken- 
down merchant of Boston, whose paper was once 
good in Calcutta, or on the Bourse in Paris, or among 
the brokers of London ; he, sad and solitary, is going 
to seek for some subordinate situation in the city of 
New Orleans. And here is the adventurer, who i3 
ready for any thing, from being sent as a missionary 
among the Indians, to going on a slaving voyage. 

Here, also, is the jolly old sugar-planter, whose 
name is good for many a thousand ; and by his side 
the cotton-planter, who numbers his bales far up in the 
hundreds ; both are neatly but plainly dressed ; and 
by them, stands a New York tailor, who, by his airs 
and habit, seems to be able to buy them bpth. 

Far up in the lady’s cabin are others, girls coming 
South to seek hicnbands, and there with sharp nose, 
vinegar aspect, p/mI eyes like a raccoon, sits a young 
lady of thirty -three ; she has come South to act as 
governess in a gentleman’s family. 

But we have no further time to individualize, the 
boat reaches the levee, and is pushing her way among 
a number of others, lying there from every portion 
of the country. The mass of human beings on board, 
tumultuously hurrying, pressing forward, pressing 
back, carpet-bags, trunks, band-boxes, wig-boxes, all are 
mingled in confusion ; and the crowd below on the 
wharf, shout and laugh and jest, and try to rush 
aboard ; and the tribe of cabmen and hotel runners 
and porters mix ; and the crowd above, and the crowd 
below gaze on each other a moment, each seeking for 
some familiar face, then advance like the heads of two 
contending armies, meet, unite and, as some chemical 
mixture poured into a turbulent pool in a moment be- 
comes calm, lost in each other, swallowed up, no longer 


110 


THE CKEOLE ORPHANS. 


distinguishable, and our characters are also covered up 
in mist, and absorbed in the toil and turmoil of a great 
city. 

Dr. Grant, who had charge of the outfit of Louis, of 
course became with him a guest of Colonel Ormond. 
We will not follow the minutiae of events in their life 
in New Orleans. Colonel Ormond and Dr. Grant 
would stroll down town in the morning at nine ; return 
up town at eleven, dine at three, see friends, or devote 
themselves to the family, or gradually saunter home in 
the heat of the day ; in the evening stroll down to the 
Place d’Armes, and after a promenade around its 
ancient walks, and paying a tribute of solemn interest 
to the old Cathedral, bring themselves up to the steps 
of the Cafe de Ville ; there seated in a quiet corner, 
with a cup of coftee, for which this place was ever 
famed, and a fragrant cigar, they would listen with 
interest to the conversations of the old French and 
Spanish residents, who always gather around the 
domino- tables, drink coffee, and talk about lang 
syne^ 

I do not know how it is, but I never could approach 
the old church of St. Louis, and gaze upon its antique 
towers, its time-stained walls, its old Tuscan ground- 
work with its quaint foreign style, without offering a 
sigh to times gone by, with a feeling of reverence and 
interest, ^^iewing it from the opposite side of the 
equate in connection with its wings, the public build- 
ings, and letting the imagination wander back to the 
time when the cavaliers of Spain trod in their pride 
its aisles, and the jellow flag floated from its towers, or 
the tri color of France usurped its place, it recalls the 
days of Bienville, Carondolet, Vidal, and Casa Calvo. 
The events, which had passed in the apartments of the 


THE CKEOLE ORPHANS. 


Ill 


City Hall, and changed the fate of a nation, and the 
scenes which had taken place on that old square 
when “ the star-spangled banner” arose before the eyes 
of a delighted people, and proclaimed them free. On 
treading its ancient aisles, and before its bright altar 
gazing on those living forms which have rendered the 
pencil of Eaphael immortal, and drinking in those 
heavenly sounds which float around its heavy arches ; 
all these bewilder and delight. Or, stand over the 
dust of the proud rulers of this chosen land, and 
among them good Father Sedella, who for half a cen- 
tury officiated at its altar ; the efiect is the same, and 
a dim misty crowd of ghosts of departed events pass 
and repass before you, and chasten the spirit. 

In this spot, so dear to the old citizens, did Ormond 
and Dr. Grant love to linger, and in this quiet place 
watch the devotees, as they left the busy, bustling 
world with all its cares and joys, to render adoration 
where it is due 


CHAPTER XI. 


“None Is poor but the mean in mind, 

None is wealthy but the affluent in soul.” 


Tupph. 


’* I am determined to prove a villain. 


♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ 

Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous.” 


Biouard 111. 


ii left Talbot alone on the plantation ; he nevei 



* * met the overseer except in some of his rambles. 
With Pierre he wandered over the broad domain; he 
spent whole days upon the lake, or penetrated far into 
the swamp ; and while he thus occupied his time, he 
brooded over his fancies. He hoped and prayed that 
some contingency might arise by which he would be 
the only surviving relative,” and that Colonel Or- 
mond would defer and procrastinate, until too late, the 
act of justice to Marie. And while he thus allowed 
his mind to ponder on this theme, he, even he, would 
shudder as strange phantoms would flit across his 
brain. So horrible his dreams that he dared not even 
speculate on this too much. 

A night or two after the departure of Colonel Or- 
mond, Talbot was sitting alone ; lights were brought 
in, his eyes were bent on the Are, musing on the events 
of the past few months ; his foul imagination was run- 
ning riot with his reason. Memory was busy with the 
“ scenes that were,” and visions of other days floated 


THE OKEOLE ORPHANS. 


113 


around him — ^his father’s family, his gray -haired mother, 
his blooming sisters, all, all gone ; and he left to strug- 
gle on alone with poverty. Ay ! that poverty and 
deep degradation, the pitiless master, and the cold, 
unsympathizing world ; and they too were fled, and 
the dream was changed. 

As we have before said, the family of Talbot were 
poor, but respectable; his father had died while he 
was quite young, and the whole support of three sis- 
ters and himself devolved upon the mother. She pos- 
sessed a small house on the outskirts of the city, and 
with the help of her eldest girl, succeeded in procuring 
sewing. But even this did not last; death called her 
away, and then soon followed one of the younger sis- 
ters. About this time, a man who was in a small 
business, and whom the family had worked for, be- 
came intimate at the house ; the result was, the seduc- 
tion of the youngest girl and her desertion of the 
family. A fatal disease soon carried off the eldest 
one, and Talbot was left alone. Out of compassion, 
he was taken as an errand-boy by a commercial house, 
and finding him possessed of a good deal of natural 
shrewdness and capacity, the senior member of the 
firm sent him to school. Here he acquired the knowl- 
edge he possessed, and being naturally intelligent, he 
soon outstripped his class-mates. His prospects were 
ruined by the death of his kind patron, and in a short 
time the dissolution of the house deprived him of his 
situation. At the age of fifteen he barelj^ supported 
himself by any thing which offered ; many nights he 
went supperless to bed, and many others he had no 
bed at all. From this date, living in destitution, ho 
spent three years among the lowest and vilest of a 


114 


THE CKEOLE ORPHANS. 


great city, and from this period may be dated his 
ruin. 

He secured an humble situation at a pitiful salary, 
which he held until his long-cherished design of com- 
ing South was carried into execution. It was during 
his association wdth the low and corrupt that a color- 
ing was given to his future life. He was not by nature 
gifteil with any brilliant qualities of mind, but seemed 
in a supereminent degree to be possessed of duplicity, 
and to a casual observer could pass for one deeply 
learned. From his infancy he had seen the influence 
and power of wealth ; he therefore, when he had ar- 
rived at the years of manhood, sought the fellowship 
of young men whose means were large. Those who 
were dissolute and profligate soon became his firm 
friends, and many was the douceur he received from 
them for lending his aid in gratifying their pleasures. 

He had long resolved in his own soul, and it had 
become the fixed and predominant idea in his subtle 
mind, to one day revel in wealth, to be the master of 
gold for its own sake, and for the power it gave its 
possessor over others. This was what turned his steps 
to the South. Allured by the golden dreams he had 
formed, and descriptions from others, he had long 
determined to desert an arid soil and frigid climate, 
and emigrate to the land of sunshine and gold. With 
this intention he hoarded every cent, until he had ac- 
cumulated sufficient to cany him to the Eldorado of 
his hopes and wishes. 

For some years previous to his leaving the North, 
he had contracted an intimacy with a young man by 
the name of William Stamps. 

This person lived in the same establishment with 
him, and consequently they were thrown much into 


THE CR^iOLE ORPHANS. 


115 


each other’«5 society ; a similarity of tastes soon drew 
the bonds of their intimacy closer, and they became 
warm friends. The same feelings and habits, which 
characterized Talbot, exhibited themselves in Stamps, 
with this exception : Stamps loved money with a 
devoted and ardent feeling, simply as the means oi 
gratifying his passions, of which wine and women 
were not the least. He had been well brought up 
until that age at w^hich boys are sent off to shift for 
themselves ; bad companions had converted him into 
a depraved reprobate. He had but one virtue, if vir^ 
tue it can be termed, seeing that it is possessed by 
many of the inferior animals in an eminent degree : 
he was constitutionally brave, and, had he lived at a 
period when courage could have been called forth, he 
might have become distinguished. He was two years 
the senior of Talbot ; but instead of a low, tortuous 
policy being pursued, he went straight to the point at 
once. He was a bold but unscrupulous man ; he did 
not possess that prudent, cautious, self-preserving pol- 
icy which the other had; his was the subservient 
mind to Talbot’s. He was the one to execute, bold 
and confident if guided by a superior mind, but mys- 
tified and lost if not directed and left to himself. Both 
combined made a pair to be feared and avoided. 

This much premised, we return to Mr. Talbot, 
whom we left comfortably sitting by the fire. Suppei 
was over, and he was virtuously laying plans to make 
a fortune, when he suddenly thought of Stamps. 

When he parted from him, he had faithfully prom- 
ised to write, and to pave the way for his advent; this 
promise now came across his memory ; and he arose 
from his seat. “ Confound it !” he exclaimed, “ I have ' 
neglected poor Stamps very mucli : I promised to write 


116 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


often, and here I have been some weeks, and have not 
thought of him. It will not do to neglect him, for he 
may be of use to me some of these times, and I must 
keep him in play. He reached to the mantle and took 
a cigar, a small vase of which was always ready. 

‘‘Well, well,” he continued, as he slowly lit it, and 
watched its glowing point — “ well, my friend, we are 
situated differently now from what we were once ; you 
are plodding on behind the counter, peddling calico 
and pins ; and I — ah — this is a confounded good cigar. 
Well, well and here he sat down again, and relapsed 
into his musing. His thoughts again ran upon his form- 
er life, and his clerkship ; the many Sabbath walks 
they had taken into the suburbs. Many a deep and 
envious sigh had escaped them, as they eyed the splen- 
did equipages, when they dashed by, ill all their glory 
and pride, of gold, and silver platings, with dashing 
steeds, proud menials, and voluptuous inmates, rolling 
along to church. Then would they fall into conversa- 
tions, in which romantic vision?s of wealth, and luxu- 
ry were predominant, until they were beyond the noise 
of streets, where the nabob moved in all his glory, 
until they were far up in the green woods : they then 
would recline on some seat of stone in the public 
grounds, or on a mossy bank, and dream away the 
day ; then returning, dine at some cheap restaurant, in 
which the viands were, by the excitement of their im- 
aginations, made, to resemble some rare banquet. 

Again Talbot rose and paced the room, then sudden- 
ly seating himself, drew up the light, opened his pert- 
folio, and penned the following letter, which will ex 
hibit the nature of his musings : 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


117 


“ Plantation, Parish of , La. 

December 10 th, 18 — . 

"-‘My Dear Stamps:— Upon parting with you in 
New York, I promised to write on my way, and cer- 
tainly upon my arrival in this country ; but the fact 
is, T have had my time so much occupied that I have 
had no leisure. 

“ Billy, imagine your friend now sitting in a splen- 
didly furnished room by a fire ; a first rate cigar (not 
like them we used to smoke), and plenty of servants to 
wait upon me, and all this upon a fine sugar plantation. 

“I found upon my arrival a relation, who is the 
owner of it ; a fine fellow he is too, and as liberal as he 
can be. He has got the most beautiful woman you 
ever saw, and two sweet little girls, and as much mo- 
ney as would hum up a wet dog. I spend my time 
very pleasantly, and the gentlemen around here are 
gentlemen ; they are just as different from what we have 
heard as you can imagine. Nothing like what the 
Northern people think ; they are affable and kind, not 
proud, as they are up there. 

“ I shall leave in a few days for New Orleans, which 
is only a day’s journey, to go into business. 

“ Billy, this country comes up to the idea of what 
we formed of it. It is now December ; with you the 
weather is as cold as Charity, while with us the air is 
as bland as April. The garden and yard are full of 
flowers and fruit ; ay I and the orange-trees are loaded — 
yes, oranges! regular golden fruit. What do you 
think of that, Stamps ? And then go into the sugar 
house, see the number of slaves ; see their operations, 
the machinery, the sugar boiling, and then the net 
amount of the sugar hogsheads, and the sea of mo 
lasses. Ah, Stamps 4 your mouth waters. 


118 


THE CREOLE ORRHAHS. 


Well, there is a negro always at my service, to go 
out hunting with me, and there is also a lake and a 
boat. What would you give to be able to say 
‘ Bring out my horse !’ and in a few minutes you have 
him at the door, readj^ saddled for you to mount, and 
then you can ride away, and stay as long as you 
choose: go to the house of a neighbor and dine; be 
treated like a prince ; or go down to town and drink 
with gentlemen who spend more in cigars and liquor 
in a year than old Hanks is worth ; come back in the 
evening, have no one to say to you, ‘ Where have you 
been, sir?’ like we used to do, if we staid a minute 
over our time in going to our meals, and tremble in 
our shoes for fear of loosing our place. 

“ The only thing I lack now is your company, 
Stamps ; and that I must have, sooner or later. I will 
as soon as I get established, exert myself in procuring 
you a situation. Colonel Ormond which is the name 
of my relation, told me to come to New Orleans in a 
few d?»ys after him; I suppose he intends to provide 
for me. I thought at first that he did not look upon 
me with a very kind eye, and the lady less so ; but I 
have just ^spread my self and tried to please, and now 
I see a great deal better feeling. At first, she seemed 
to be as afraid of me as if I were a bear, but now she 
sits and laughs, while I sketch faces for the children. 

Time, with corresponding action on my part, will 
banish every thing but want of confidence. 

‘‘ The colonel thinks it his duty to do all he can for 
his relative ; and I can not resist the sweet temp- 
tation of letting him do as he pleases ; the more so as 
r can do nothing for myself. 

They have now gone to New Orleans, to send the 
two little girls, * Zoe and Estelld to Paris to school ; 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


119 


and, by the wa}^, speaking of them, they are of that 
beauty which you benighted Northerners little dream 
of ; pure Italian like, with the olive and rose strug- 
gling for the mastery in their cheeks ; while their eyes 
are large, soft, and expressive ; forms like sylphs. 
Ah, my boy I your mouth streams water — they are 
the mere inception of the beautiful. If the bud is 
thus, oh, what will the flower be! This ^honey-hell 
and night-star' would captivate your senses. 

‘‘ I find the people here all tinged with a religious 
feeling ; but it seems as if they were unconscious of it. 
Take, for example, to exhibit the difference, a Northern 
man, sent to Sunday school from the time he is nine 
days old, church three times a day, and once during 
the week — class meetings and Bible societies, crammed 
to repletion with religious tracts, send him South, and 
they are the very men who set morality at naught; 
hunt, fish, go to town on Sunday, and do every thing 
which is condemned by the Christian world ; while 
you find the Southern gentleman, raised in luxury 
from infancy, is the one who seems to have an intuitive 
veneration for the Sabbath, and for all things holy. I 
have learned this much from observation. I suppose, 
however, it is the way wef at the North are raised ; we 
become surfeited with religion at home. 

‘‘ But, heigho 1 here I am giving a moral discourse, 
and am drawing this letter out too long. I merely 
designed to say that I found this land of the South 
to be equal to what I imagined it. 

Write very soon — I will reply — and if I get into 
a situation, I will not wait to receive yours. 

“ Adieu, Billy, and believe me as ever, 

“ Your friend, 
Talbot.” 


120 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


“ Well,” he exclaimed, as he threw down the pen, 
and gave a deep sigh, “ that ’s over, and I call that a 
non-committal. It is not in my style, but he will 
attribute that to my coming South, and the change in 
my situation.” And here he threw himself back, and 
again indulged in visions 


0 


CHAPTER XII. 


^Thejr that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters, th«M 
see the works of the Lord, and bis wonders in the deep.'* — Psalm CYil. 23, 24. 

I T was another mild and lovely day, as the whole 
family of Colonel Ormond set out to visit the ship 
which was to be the home of Zoe and Estelle for so 
many weeks. She was called “Jeanne d’Arc,” and 
had been selected by Mr. Oivalle, as combining more 
of the comforts and elegancies he loved than any 
other. She was a light, clipper ship, fitted up in 
magnificent style. Along the street, amid boxes and 
barrels, bales and chests, tierces and casks, to the levee 
— amid drays and carriages, fruit-merchants, and Jew- 
peddlers — steamboat hands and sailors — our party went 
wondering, and taking note of all, curious and unusual. 
They were joined by Mr. Civall^ and his lady, a 
pleasant ajffable little Frenchwoman, with a black eye 
and handsome teeth. There, with a thousand gay 
flags fluttering in the breeze; with their taut-drawn 
rigging, and their yards cock-bill ; their tall tapering 
spars, and loosened sails ; the noise of the crowd on the 
levee around ; the orders of the mates, and the merry 
song of the seamen ; there lay, side by side, vessels of 
many nations. The levee was strung with goods of 
every clime; and every language was echoed in the 
ears of the passer-by, as be trod the wharves of the 
Queen City of the ^uth West. The roll of vehicles 


122 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


— the shouts and laughs of the crowd — the chattering 
of the market-people — the orders of the stevedore, as 
he directed the labor of his men — ^the inquiries and 
replies, in foreign tongues, of clerks discharging car- 
goes — the shrill piping of the Frenchman — the soft 
and melodious Italian — ^the jawbreakers of the crowd 
of Dutch from some emigrant-ship, with their little 
caps, short jackets, long pipes, and metal buttons, as 
they came along in a drove, men, women, and chil- 
dren — all, all formed a strange and novel concourse 
of sights and sounds to more than one of the party. 

At last they gained the pier, and were met by the 
captain of the ship. He was an old friend of M. 
Civalle’s, and a handsome, well-informed gentlema^n. 
The “Jeanne d’Arc” was a new vessel, built in a 
superior manner, and bound for Havre. 

They were showed into the cabin ; the saloons, state- 
rooms, bath-house, all were seen, and received a share 
of their attention and praise. 

Colonel Ormond inscribed the names of the voyo, gears 
on the register. 

They at length expressed themselves satisfied, and 
departed. 

The day was fixed for the sailing of the vessel, and 
now all things were held in readiness for that event. 
Marie cried, and declared she could not consent for 
the girls to leave her ; and then turned and scolded 
Ormond, because he agreed that it should be deferred. 
But at length yielding to a stern necessity, she made 
up her mind, and nerved herself up to the last sorrow- 
ful sacrifice. 


CHAPTER XTII. 


• lij child, my child, thou leavest rae ! I shall bear 
The gentle voice no more that blest mine ear 
With its first utterance ; I shall miss the sound 
Of thy light step amid the flowers around ; 

And thy soft breathing hymn at twilight's close, 

And thy ‘ Good-night’ at parting for repose.” 

MADELIN2. 


rpHE eventful day at length arrived, and opened on 
Marie with an anxious and sorrowful heart. M, 
Civalle arrived soon after breakfast in a carriage, and 
requested them to be on board at ten o’clock. The 
baggage was packed, and in the hall — every thing 
was confusion. Colonel Ormond could not read his 
morning paper ; his cigar was neglected. He arose, 
and sat down again ; he paced the hall, looked at his 
watch, and then seated himself. Marie was at his side, 
asking a thousand questions, and attending to all those 
little wants for the children which only a mother 
knows how to care for. 

Dr. Grant was often coming into the breakfast- room, 
vowing that something would be forgotten ; while 
Louis was constantly bringing in an accession of arti- 
cles, which he declared w’ould be needed for the 
voyage. 

Old Sylvia hopped about, trying to arrange matters,, 
all the time making them worse, and creating more 
disorder ; when the car came lumbering up fo^ the 
baggage. 


124 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


Breakfast was earlier than usual, and dispatched in 
silence ; for heavy and sad, were the hearts which that 
morning were clustered around the board. 

Marie retired to her own room with the girls ; and 
there, with one on each side, did she kneel down, and 
pour forth her full soul to God. Earnestly she be- 
sought him to extend over her unprotected lambs his 
mighty arm. 

Oh ! who can feel as a mother feels ? Whose heart, 
pure and devoted, is so forgetful of self as a mother’s ? 
Her thoughts, her ideas, her actions, are all for hei 
offspring. 

Marie knelt, and, in agony of soul, asked the 
blessing of God. Softly she called upon all the holy 
saints and angels to watch and protect, and, in the 
hour of danger, to be nigh them. Ere she arose, she 
heard Colonel Ormond below, asking for her. She 
added a few more words of advice. 

“Zoe,” she said, “you are the elder: remember, 
now, that you are, though young, to supply my place 
to Estelle in many things. Attend to her wants ; and 
do not annoy Madame Civalle. Be kind to each other, 
you are going many weary miles from your mother; 
do not forget her; and remember, children, your 
Father in heaven ! Every night, either in calm or 
storm, remember, never to lay your heads down on 
your pillow, until you have asked His blessing. He 
will watch over you, and make you good and happy, 
my children.” Much more to the same effect did she 
say. If the reader happen to be a mother, she will 
understand the feelings of Marie, upon thus surren- 
dering her jewels. She will appreciate all the feelings 
of a mother’s heart and a mother’s sorrow. 

The sound of wheels at the door informed them 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


12 £ 


that the moment had arrived. Marie now entered the 
parlor with Zoe and Estelle, all ready for traveling ; 
and Colonel Ormond came in at another door. Dr. 
Grant was sitting on the sofa with Louis, in a sorrow- 
ful mood, for he had no children of his own, and he 
felt all the tender and sincere feeling of a parent for 
these. Old Sylvia was behind the door, crying as if 
her heart would break. Colonel Ormond happened to 
look at her, and she appeared so earnest in her lament- 
ations that he could not refrain from smiling. 

Sylvia,” he said, “ I have an idea of sending you 
off with the children. What do you think of it?” 

Sylvia nervously stepped out from behind the door, 
and after wiping her eyes many times, placed her arms 
akimbo, and replied, “ Master, I knows very well that 
I ain’t nothin’ but a nigger, and it can’t be ’spected 
that I will tell the truth ; but I tell you what I thinks 
of it. I thinks that it is a burnin’ shame for you and 
Miss Marie, to go to sendin’ them poor children away 
from home. I wish that Paris was sunk to de bottom 
of de Massasip. De Lord knows, when I look at dem 
poor little tremblin’ things, what I has nursed for 
years in these old skinny arms, and think that the} 
has to be sent off among strangers — had just as lief 
die 1” and here the faithful creature burst into tears, 
and flung herself out of the room. 

“ There is a good deal of feeling and little policy in 
Sylvia,” said Dr. Grant, laughing to hide a tear. 

Colonel Ormond compressed his lips, but said noth- 
ing. Marie was at that moment about to close a small 
trunk which had not been carried in the cart ; it con- 
tained all the fine laces and light wearing apparel, 
and hijoutene of the children. Ormond arose. Hold 
Marie 1” he said, and, going to the mantel, where laid 


126 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS 


a pair of scissors, he seized them and severed a large 
lock of hair from his head, threw it into the trunk, 
saying in a touching tone, “ My children^ remember 
youT father, and if it should please God for us never 
to meet again, let this lock of hair remind you of his 
ast wishes. Eemember your virtue, your honor, and 
your God !” 

lie turned off and left the room. 

The entrance of Louis informed them that the mo* 
raent had arrived in reality, and Colonel Ormond re- 
turning, Marie arose, hastily donned her bonnet, and 
pulled her vail down over her face. Sylvia and a 
Creole servant-girl named Martha assisted the children 
to arrange their bonnets and shawls, and, as Dr, Grant 
left the room. Colonel Ormond silently offered his arm 
to Marie. 

They entered the carriage, and were rolled down to 
the levee. The captain was standing at the gangway, 
and by his side the good-humored countenance of 
M. Civalle showed itself, asking and replying to ques- 
tions all in the same breath, and making all the usual 
gestures which a Frenchman alone is capable of. 
When our party entered the cabin, there were several 
ladies and gentlemen present who were passengers; 
with these they speedily formed an acquaintance, and, 
after the usual formalities had been complied v/ith, in 
regard to stowing of baggage and selecting berths, 
the}^ all went on deck. 

The ship had been hauled out from the pier, and 
was only held by a single line. It had been arranged 
that Colonel Ormond, Marie, and Dr. Giant should 
accompany them down to the Balize, and return in a 
tow-boat. passengers were on the quarter and 

poop-deck, watching the sailors as they cleared the 


THE CKEOLE ORPHANS. 


127 


decks of dunnage, stowing provisions, reefing the run‘ 
ning rigging, and bending on new sails. 

Painters were at work, touching up stains and 
bruises, and boys polishing the brass capstan head, 
binnacle, and stanchions at the hatch and gangway. 
The mates were busy in seeing every thing snug; 
stewards in a hurry, getting in their wines, and pre* 
paring for their guests ; and a peep into their well 
arranged pantries, at the rows of bottles of wines, 
sauces and confections, promised well for creature 
comforts during the voyage. 

M. Civalle had a number of suspicious-looking little 
bottles to stow away, while his wife, a pretty little 
animated brunette of some twenty -five years, remained 
behind on the poop-deck, which I shall take the liberty, 
for the benefit of the non-professional, to explain to be 
that portion of the deck which is abaft the rnizen-mast 
or after-portion of the ship, and forms the roof of fhe 
cabin, raised above the other portion of the deck. 

Marie sat apart with her children, and conversed 
with them in a low and earnest manner. 

It was past noon when the tow-boat “ Lion” came 
alongside ; she had in tow a Liverpool ship ; she 
stopped, the “ Jeanne d’Arc” was dropped down on 
her larboard quarter, the line which held her to the 
levee was loosened, and she had in another moment 
cast off all ties which held her to America. The voy- 
age was begun, she was passing down to her ocean 
home, whose white-crested waves and tossing winds 
longed to embrace her. Night came, and with it mil- 
lions of stars reflected in the glassy bosom of the ri ver. 
The passengers were all gathered in groups on the 
deck, over which there had been an awning rigged, to 
protect them from the night air ; some were sitting soli 


128 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


tar}" and alone, with heaving breast and a watery eye, 
thinking on home and friends left behind ; some were 
conversing in a joyous tone, and others were silent, 
but the dark wing of melancholy hung over them as 
they sat and gazed into the deep water over which 
they were gliding. The croaking of myriads of frogs, 
the solemn and wild cry of the bittern from its home 
in the swamp, and the low flat shores and long grass 
lent a peculiar character to the scene. 

Colonel Ormond sat alone with Marie, conversing 
with the children, and Dr. Grant and M. Civalle were 
discussing with great earnestness the most delicate 
points in French cookery. 

There seemed to be a tacit understanding among 
the passengers not to retire until their arrival at the 
mouth of the river. The air, although it was late in 
the season, was soft and balmy, and a gentle breeze 
slightly waved the long grass on shore; and there 
they sat, all enjoying themselves, and waiting to get a 
sight of the great ocean. 

It was broad daylight when the long, low, flat shore 
terminated, and beyond lay, in illimitable expanse, the 
great ocean. The town was passed, and it was not 
long ere the waters of the Mississippi mingled with 
the clear blue of the Gulf. Here the anchor was let 
go, and the “ Lion” stretched out to sea, to look foi 
an inbound vessel. A pilot came on board, and took 
command of the ship, which gradually worked her 
way over the bar, and came into deep water. Colonel 
Ormond and Marie remained on the ship, and until a 
long black line of smoke was seen on the horizon they 
spent the fleeting moments with their children. 

The tow-boat, as agreed upon in the morning, grad- 
ually neared and slackened her steam. Then Marie’s 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


129 


breath came thick ; and a thousand feelings resolved 
themselves into a single moment of time; the last 
parting had come. She nerved herself up to a final 
effort; and as the word was given, “All aboard 
she clasped her children — deep and passionate was the 
embrace — powerful the storm of sorrow which was 
pent'Up in her bosom. The captain seized his trum- 
pet; the mates echoed his orders; and crowding aft, 
the men rushed with the capstan bars ; the messenger 
and swifter were already around it ; the word was 
given, and away, they flew ; the anchor was catted ; 
the men ran aloft ; the sails were loosened, and Marie 
was carried on board the steamer half-fainting ; while 
the gallant ship, as she felt the breeze, leaned over to 
the impetus, and commenced her voyage over the 
blue waters. Keader — ^perhaps you are a parent — 
it may be that you have hung over the sick couch 
of a dear cherub, and gazed with anxious beart 
at its sunken cheeks. You have felt the life-blood 
leaping like lightning in its frail frame ; and marked 
the hectic flush — the glistening eye — and felt the hot 
breath as it issued from that little fever-parched mouth ; 
and you hush your breath, and place your cheek close to 
the little sufferer ; while the flesh shrinks in horror, and 
the soul is sick with agony lest it be dead ! — when 
it murmurs in its delirium, “Mother!” — when the 
cricket’s chirp, oi the rustling of the leaf against the 
window pane, makes you start, you scarce know 
^hy; and when its weak and helpless eyes beseech 
you for the assistance you “ know you can not give.” 
You who have felt this, who have known a parent's 
agony, the concentrated bitterness of that moment, can 
feel for Marie. She turned and looked toward the 
ehip. A cloud of canvas was piled upon her yards, 
• 


130 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


The steamer was rushing over the water, and the dis 
tance gradually increasing between them. Upon tin 
deck they stood ; while hands waved handkerchiefs, 
and fond lips sent kisses on the air ; but Marie saw 
nothing, the tears dimmed her vision; and when the 
party became indistinct, her head fell on the bosom of 
Colonel Ormond, and she wept deeply and passion- 
ately I He sat there, gazing on the now fast receding 
vessel. A gloom was on his brow, and a sorrow on 
his heart. 

“ Go, in thy glory, o’er the ancient sea, 

Take with thee, gentle winds, thy^ails to swell; 

Sunshine and joy upon thy streamers be, 

Fare thee well, bark, farewell I” 

When they arrived in New Orleans, they found Tal- 
bot ; he had come down according to the request of 
Colonel Ormond, who was to procure him a situation 
in some mercantile house ; which promise he perform- 
ed in the morning. 

Marie retired early, and spent the night in tears. 
Ah ! and those tears ! bitter, deep, despairing, such as 
sear the eye-balls and melt the heart with agony. 
Upon their arrival in the city. Colonel Ormond and 
the doctor walked up town. In passing a hotel, they 
were cheered by the sound of a well-known voice ; 
and Mr. Herndon stood before them. Ah, Ormond, 
too late!’’ he said. “ I learned that you. have parted 
from your children. I rode over to your place, and 
thinking to find you ready to start, found you gone , 
but in 3 ’our place, your relative. I came down with 
him as 1 had business, hoping I would get a sight of 
you all before 3 ’ou left.” 

“ I am sorry you were disappointed, Herndon ; they 
would have been pleased.” 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS 


131 


How does Marie take it ?” 

‘‘ Badly, badly ; but grief wears off, come ; Grant 
and myself strolled up here; we are just going to 
return.” 

The three proceeded again down town ; indulging 
as they went in that pleasant chat common to near 
and dear friends. 

Talbot had retired, Dr. Grant and Mr. Herndon had 
been sitting out on the door-step smoking (Ormond 
having stolen up stairs to cheer Marie), and the subject 
of their conversation was upon the situation of their 
friend and Marie ; and their determination was to urge 
with all their power his immediate and prompt action 
in the matter, and have it consummated at once. 
Colonel Ormond came down and joined them. 

Ormond, I am going to return to-morrow, and 
when I meet you again, I wish you to say, ‘ Herndon, 
I have relieved myself from an odium, and done what 
my friends advised.’ ” 

‘‘My dear friend,” replied Ormond ; “I feel grate- 
ful for your sincere disinterestedness, and appreciate 
your friendship. I have already to-day called on a 
legal friend, and made an appointment for ten to-mor- 
row, when I will at once take preliminary steps to 
have this long-deferred matter closed.” 

“ This \s as it should be, Ormond,” he answered, 
rising: “and no man can feel more gratified to see 
you disenthrall yourself from this procrastination.” 

“ There are certain preliminary steps to be taken,” 
said Dr. Grant, “ which subjects it to delay.” 

“ What are they ?” 

“ I am informed that a notice has to be published 
forty days ; and then a petition is presented to the 
Parish Judge ; and if the person to be emancipated is 


132 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


not above the age of thirty, it has to go before the 
Police J ury first.’’ 

Yes, I have read the same in the Civil Code ; but 
it is mortifying to be subjected to this humiliation.” 

Yet, Ormond, can you with honor retract ? Eo 
member the great interests at stake.” 

“ True ; yet the notoriety, the shame to have my 
domestic affairs dragged before a low crowd.” 

This sensitive feeling is natural. Yet, Ormond, 
if it is not done, there is a something which will surely 
follow.” 

It appears to me, that I would rather risk this 
something after my death, than to debase those whom 
only I live for.” 

You are placed in a very unhappy situation, and 
I see but one way to escape from it,” said the doctor; 
“ and that is not to regard the opinion of the world, 
and go to work at once.” 

“ Yes ; and to-morrow I will do so. I will brave 
the opinion of the public, and place my children, and 
the mother of my children, in a position of security 
and independence.” 

“ Spoken like a man !” exclaimed Herndon ; and 
now, let ’s to bed and sleep upon it.” 

At ten o’clock the next day, Colonel Ormond sought 
the office of his attorney. He was one of those pure, 
honorable men who are above the chicanery of the 
law, and scorn to adopt mean, debasing positions 
to secure a client, and which are, I am sorry to say, 

common among the members of the profession. He 
listened attentively to Ormond, and felt deeply for his 
situation, for he had known him well a number of 
years. At length Ormond stammered through his 
painful recital. 


133 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 

“ W ell, Colonel, I do not see that the case Is so dif- 
ficult. I have thought of a method by which all the 
disagreeable publicity of the affair may be avoided.” 

‘‘Then, for God’s sake, sir,” exclaimed Ormond, 
“ let me know it. I will embrace any thing.” 

‘'You are aware that the thing can not be carried 
aut in this State.” 

“ Is it possible ? Why ? How ?” 

“ Simply because there is a law which in effect pro- 
hibits the manumission of persons, unless they are 
natives of the State.” 

“ Then, what am I to do ?” 

“ Nothing is easier than to go to another State, 
where there is no prohibition.” 

Ormond knit his brows, and sat in silent thought for 
some time ; at length he arose, and observed. “ Mr. 
Bland, I have an idea ; I will see you again,” and shook 
his hand. At the door of his dwelling, he met Dr. 
Grant ; he motioned to him to walk with him, and de- 
tailed the whole conversation. 

“Now, then,” exclaimed the Doctor, his eyes spark 
ling with pleasure, “I have it.” 

“Proceed!” 

“ You know that the health of my wife has been 
bad for some time; that symptoms of pulmonary 
disease are evident, and that I have been meditating a 
trip to Cuba, or some more genial climate?” 

Yes, but what connection — ” 

“Stay! — I am willing to take thit trip now; I am 
willing to go with you to some one of the West Indies, 
where my wife’s health will be restored ; and you can 
accomplish your object at once.” 

“ Doctor I” warmly exclaimed Ormond, “ I know 


134 


THE CREOLE ORPHAKS. 


and appreciate your feelings and friendship, but this 
is more than I could ask.” 

Oh, nonsense, Ormond ! do you not see that I will 
be delighted with the trip ? suppose the health of my 
wife is benefited, could I ask more happiness ? No, 
go and see Herndon, for though he is a devil when 
excited, his judgment is cool and opinion sound.” 

“I shall be but too happy then to take you at your 
word.” 

‘'Then, see Marie! cheer her heart, and let us gel 
ready.” Ormond took him by the hand and pressed 
it warmly, while the tremulousness of his voice as 
he thanked him, told him how deejjly he felt. 

They turned and walked back. Ormond’s step was 
light and buoyant, and freer from care than it had 
been for many a day, for he now saw a way by which 
he could perform a duty long delayed, and render 
himself happy. 

Early in the morning. Colonel Ormond had a long 
and private conversation with Mr. Bland, his attorney, 
and had declined saying any thing to Marie on the 
subject, until he returned. He found her in the par- 
lor where she had been awaiting his return. She was 
dressed in black, a color which becomes all persons of 
her complexion, and she with her splendid figure, 
showed to peculiar advantage. Her long dark hair 
was braided across her spotless forehead, while her 
cheeks had a slight ripe tinge of carnation, such as 
the peach obtains by exposure to the sun’s rays. 

He thought he had never seen her look more beauti 
fdl as he drew her to his bosom. 

“Marie, my love,” he said, “I have seldom ever 
felt in better heart than this morning. Do you know 
that I have at length found a solution to this terrible 


THE CHEOLE ORPHANS. 


135 


problem which has so often formed the subject of con- 
versation between us?” 

“ Do you mean the matter in regard to myself and 
our — our children ?” and here her voice faltered, 
as she gazed up to him inquiringly, and the tears 
started to her eyes at the mention of those dear ones, 
who were now far away among strangers, upon the 
blue waters of the Atlantic. 

“ Ay, Marie ! it is that ; I think it is now set at 
rest.” 

“ In what manner, Ormond ?” 

“ Why, by a suggestion of Mr. Bland’s, which has 
marked out a course for me to pursue.” - 

What is it ? Mr. Bland is a good man, and I am 
sure his advice must be so.” 

“ Simply to leave the State to have the act of eman- 
cipation passed ; as there are many disagreeable things 
connected with the proceeding here, which will not 
be necessary in another place. Yet stay I listen I he 
advises me to go to one of the West India islands.” 

‘^The West Indies?” 

“Yes! and as soon as I mentioned it. Dr. Grant 
nobly offered to accompany us, and as his wife is in 
delicate health, to make her your companion.” 

“ Oh, this is too good, too kind 1” she fervently said, 
while a holy expression of gratitude overspread hex 
features. 

After some further conversation upon the subject, 
she remarked : 

“ Ormond, I have often thought of the days of my 
childhood, and a desire has lurked in my bosom to 
revisit those spots where I was so happy, and yet 
so miserable. Could this matter be arranged in Mar- 
tinique? Oh! I see now those tall hills and waving 


136 THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 

cocoa-trees, tlae bright sun, and the gorgeous flowers^ 
of my native isle ; and methinks if I visit it under 
such auspices as the present, every thing will be more 
bright, and more beautiful than even in my child* 
hood’s dream.” 

“ Yes, yes, my own one,” he said, as he looked upon 
her with rapture, “yes, we will go to Martinique; it 
is a fitting place for this ceremony, and there I can, 
and will claim you as an honored wife, before the 
world.” 

“Bless you, Obarlcvs! bless you for this! for so 
readily yielding to this whim of mine, and for it 
know that I love you, oh, so dearly!” And she hid 
her face in his bosom. 

“ You deserve it Marie,” cried Ormond, returning 
her caresses, “ it is the most prudent and most pleasant 
course.” The opening of the hall-door now inter- 
rupted the conversation, and they were speedily en- 
gaged with Dr. Grant, to whom they communicated 
the idea. He was delighted with it, and thus passed 
the time till dinner. 

“ Mr. Talbot,” rsaid Colonel Ormond, at dinner, “ we 
do not intend returning to the plantation to remain, for 
a few weeks ; the health of the doctor’s wife is failing, 
and he wishes us to accompany him on a short trip, 
thinking it may restore her; and as your engagement 
has not commenced in the citj, I will have to engage 
you myself. What do you say to it ?” 

“ Ah, colonel,” he answered, with a smirk, “ you are 
jesting with me, you well know that if my poor serv- 
ices can avail you any thing, you are heartily wel- 
come to them.” 

“But I am serious, Mr. Talbot ; I have a great deal 
of correspondence which requires my attention ; now, 


tHE OREOLE ORPHAiTS. 137 

what I propose is, for you until our return, to act as 
my private secretary.” 

“ With pleasure, colonel, I will.” 

Your services shall not go unrewarded, Mr. Tal* 
oot. I have sugar to ship, and that will also be your 
business.” 

“ Any thing, sir, I will attend to.” 

“ Well, then, that is settled, and you had best return 
with us.” 

After dinner he approached Talbot. “Well, Mr, 
Talbot, as our engagement now commences, and money 
may not be over plenty, here is a check for a small 
sum which you may find of use during my absence ;” 
and here he held out a paper. Talbot drew back, pre- 
tending great delicacy. 

“ Tut, tut, man, take it ; as the world goes we must 
be supplied with the current coin ; none of this mod- 
esty — take it.” Talbot, apparently with great reluct- 
ance, accepted it, after offering many thanks ; but as 
the reader knows, money was his god, his heart beat 
fast, and his breath grew thick at the offering. 

It was a happy party that evening, which assembled 
around the fireside of Cfolonel Ormond. Marie and 
Dr. Grant sat down to a game of chess ; while Mr. 
Herndon, who had not left the city, and Colonel 
Ormond, assisted by Talbot, enjoyed cigars and con- 
versation. 

The next evening saw them all on a steamer, wend 
ing their way homeward 


CHAPTER XIV. 


“ The sky was piled with golden clouds, 
The winds were all asleep ; 

There was no noise, save only this, 
The breathing of the deep.” 


pOLONEL OEMOND now set to work to arrange his 
^ matters, preparatory to his departure. Mr. Hern- 
don promised to often ride over and direct the over- 
seer, if the return should be delayed, and Talbot was 
to attend to the correspondence ; but not a word did 
they breathe to him of the place of their destination, 
or of its object. 

A high-churchman in the city had promised to pro- 
cure letters to the Prefet A.postolique^ or head of the 
Church in the island. 

When all these little matters had been attended to, 
he sat down calmly to await the pleasure of Marie and 
Mrs. Grant, who, as all ladies have, had many little 
notions of their own to arrange, which men do not 
know any thing about. They had often met before, 
but now they saw much of each other ; and many a 
trip to town was made by old Pierre, who returned 
with packages of finery for them. 

Mrs. Caroline Grant had ever esteemed Marie, but 
the questionable manner in which she lived, pre^'ented 
her from bestowing too much attention upon he: ; now 
she had really formed an afiection for her, and, inder 


tSE CREOLE ORPHANS. 139 

existing circumstances, threw off all reserve, and be- 
came her constant friend. 

At length they signified to Colonel Ormond, that if 
he pleased, he was at liberty to select a vessel for the 
voyage. This he promptly did, by writing to his mer- 
chants, begging them to inform him of any West 
India vessels on the point of sailing. 

Not many days after this, Colonel Ormond and 
Marie, with Dr. Grant and his wife, were standing on 
the river-bank, and a steamer was gradually nearing 
the shore. Mr. Herndon and Talbot were their com- 
panions, with the overseer. A feeling adieu was 
passed between the voyageurs and Mr. Herndon. 
Talbot came forward. Colonel Ormond placed in his 
hand another check, saying, “ Mr. Talbot, take this, 
I may be absent longer than I anticipate, and you 
may need it.” 

He drew back. 

“ Nay, nay, sir, consider it as a mere advance on 
your wages ; take it!” 

He hesitated, but, as Ormond thrust it in his hand, 
received it with becoming modesty. Talbot really 
almost felt grateful to his generous benefactor, and it 
would have seemed to an observer, that his heart was 
touched, as his eyes looked watery ; but this was de- 
light. At any rate, he was a little warmed ; and, as 
Marie came up, and gave him her hand, he actually 
squeezed out a small tear ; but it cost him an effort 

A week passed away, and our party stepped on 
board a beautiful brig, called the ‘‘ Diadem,” bound 
for Porto Kico. There was no vessel going direct to 
Martinique. 

As they passed along the river, and gazed at the 
princely plantations on the bank, Marie thought of 


140 THE CREOLE ORRHAHS. 

the last time she had passed them, of the difference in 
her situation and her feelings. And then Ormond was 
so gay, and the Doctor so amusing, and her friend 
Caroline so delightful, so kind and attentive. She felt 
a freedom, her bosom was light with joy ; she felt a 
happiness she had seldom ever felt before, and a glad- 
ness of heart, which was foreign to any thing sad ox 
mournful. She was on an errand of happiness, would 
soon approach these shores an honored and a nappy 
wife, with the black stain of slavery removed fro-m 
her soul. They reached the Balize, and at length 
entered on the broad waste of waters. The vessel they 
had chosen was a new one, and her accommodations 
were excellent. She was about two hundred tuns bur- 
den. The deck was not flush, like many vessels of 
her class, but raised into a cabin like a ship. A net- 
work of rope, with iron stanchions, surrounded the 
poop-deck, where several sky -lights served for seats ; 
and when the wind was aft, or quartering, it afforded 
a fine place for passengers to lounge. There were 
some eight or ten other passengers. Among them was 
a timid, fat old gentleman, from Boston, going to the 
West Indies on a speculation; a grave old Don, who 
resided in Matanzas ; and three young ladies, who had 
been to school in Kentucky, and, under the protection 
of the Don, were going home. There were also two 
old women, who were piously incliuQd, who rolled up 
their eyes, and quoted Scripture frequently ; they were 
going out .as missionaries somewhere to the Cannibal 
Islands. These, and a young and agreeable Creole 
gentleman, formed^the party. All seemed desirous that 
their short connection should be as pleasant as pos- 
sible ; and each one appeared to be doing something 
agreeable. 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS 141 

Even Dr. Grant forgot to terrify the timid old mer- 
chant and the old women with stories about pirates 
and cut-throalSj raw-head and bloody bones, walking 
the plank, and such like concatenation of horrors, at 
which the captain would smile, then look grave, and 
give his assent. 

The captain was a jolly old fellow, strict in his dis 
cipline, and attentive to his duty. He was agreeable 
to his passengers, and exercised a fatherly privilege 
with his younger guests. He was well-stocked with 
tales of the sea, and often kept a crowd half a night 
breathless, listening to his yarns of adventure among 
the islands. But it was in a clear and cloudless night, 
when the bright stars were seen imaged out in the 
transparent sea, like golden drops, glowing and burn- 
ing in their bed of blue and silver — then it was, with a 
quarter breeze, and the vessel gliding without much 
motion over the water — then it was, we say, that the 
captain would uncoil the strands of his memory, over- 
ciaul his log, and sit for hours puffing his cheroot, 
making his hearers gather nearer to each other, and 
the more timid look over their shoulders. He had 
been taken by pirates, carried to a lonely island, and, 
after seeing half his companions murdered, escaped in 
company with two others, in an open boat, and had 
been picked up five days afterward, by a vessel bound 
to Bordeaux. He had cruised among the islands 
before the introduction of steam, and at a time when 
piracy was rife ; and had many a brush with them on 
the main land. 

It was such a night as we have described, with the 
exception that a few light fleecy clouds floated about, 
soft and downy ; or sailed along slowly, and gradually 
melted into each other ; or extended into thin wavy 


142 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


lines, which at length dissolved themselves into a mel 
low, misty, silver haze, like the harmonious blending 
of two pure and similar minds. 

The captain was the center of a group, the mainsail 
hung over the quarter, and the passengers were loung- 
ing in different attitudes ; some occupied the skylights, 
while other leaned against the network of rope. The 
boom being over the water, left a clear space for the 
listeners, who were clustered around the capt^m. 

The passengers had become well acqua^utt^d, and 
mutually pleased. 

Ormond and Dr. Grant had been amused from time 
to time at the eagerness with which the party seemed 
to listen to any thing which savored of the marvel- 
ous and terrible ; even Mrs. Grant and Marie had 
caught the infection, and sat hand in hand, listening 
in breathless attention. 

“ Now, captain,” observed one of the young ladies, 
“ come, tell us a good story ; you know you promised 
as at dinner that you would, if I would tell how many 
lovers I had.” 

“Yes, yes, my child, so I did,” replied he. 

“Well, now, captain, tell us a real pirate story,” 
chimed in another. 

“ Very well ; what shall it be, young ladies?” 

“ Oh ! a real pirate story ; a real Blackbeard story.’ 

“Very good,” he replied, lighting another cigar 
while he threw the old stump to leeward. 

“ A pirate story ! Did I ever tell you how 1 was 
kept in prison by the Cliinese pirates, and fed on 
pickled bull puppies, until every time I tried to talk I 
barked? Oh! no, no. Well, young ladies, I wiP 
tell you a little truth to-night.” 

“ Oh 1 that ’s it, captain, give us a good one ” 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


143 


It was many years ago (I was 3 - ounger than J am 
now, and there were no frosty hairs among my loi‘ks) 
that I was second mate on a fine new brig which sailed 
from New York with a cargo of merchandise for the 
Guiana market; she was called the ‘ Sea Foam.’ Oh ! 
but she was a beauty ! and could make the sea-foam 
fly higher than any thing on the water. She was a 
jewel, and could make a nine-knot breeze out of a six, 
with nothing but her jibs and topsails. Every one 
who saw her loved her. We had boen out a few'' 
weeks, had cleared the Gulf Stream, run down the 
Caribbees, and were heading toward our port, when 
we had a storm which lasted a week. It was latitude 
15 deg. north. We ran under double-reefed topsails 
all the time, and kept double watch, with lanterns at 
our peak every night. At last the storm died away^ 
and it sunk into a dead calm. We had nothing to do 
then but get coral and fish, and we could do that easily 
enough, as we only had five fathoms of water, and 
could see every thing clearly at the bottom. Well, 
our captain (and he was a most terrible hand to sw^ear) 
he cursed the breeze which would come up in the 
evening, ruffle the w^ater, and die away ; he cursed the 
storm, and the water, and every thing not over six 
inches high ; but as strange as it may seem, it did not 
do a bit of good, for the calm continued. We had a 
number of passengers on board ; among them was a 
noble-looking Spanish gentleman and his two daugh- 
ters ; bright and lovely creatures they were too, and 
the favorites of the whole crew, who every time they 
came on deck would touch their hats to tliem and 
bless them for their words of kindness to the poor 
sailors. There were also several English merchants, 
who were going home ; and there was a big fat fellow 


144 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


several ugly women, and a sprinkling of Yankees. 
But the chief of the passengers was a young man oi 
dark features, and very handsome ; he was about thirty 
years old, not very tall, but the most elegant man that 
I ever saw, and of a most distinguished air. His 
form was superb, built for strength and activity, yet 
full of grace. His mustache gave a kind of fierceness 
to his countenance, but when he smiled he exposed a 
set of the most brilliant teeth I ever saw. Still it 
was not an unpleasant smile ; it at once attracted and 
repelled you, like the charm of the fabled snake, and 
it gave his countenance a wild and singular expression. 
He always wore a suit of undress uniform, but no 
metal button could be seen at all. When he first 
came on board he was very reserved, and seemed per- 
fectly indifferent to all the other passengers ; but, as 
we advanced into a lower latitude, he seemed to wake 
up. At first, he always took the starboard side of the 
quarter-deck, and, ever keeping a cigar in his mouth, 
would fold his arms and walk for hours ; even at night 
he never slept as the others did, but by and by he 
would start up, and, seizing the spy-glass, gaze with it 
all around the horizon. 

“ Some of the men said he was afraid, and was look- 
ing for pirates ; but one or two shook their heads and 
said nothing but that ' He don’t look like a man that 
is afraid of any thing.’ 

“ The captain used to joke him often, and ask him 
if he was looking for pirates, or his consort ; for there 
were many pirates in the Caribbean Sea in those days, 
even coming in sight of cruisers and then getting 
away. The young man would smile, show his teeth, 
and say, ‘ Captain, before we part we may meet one, 
and then we will see who is most afraid, you or I.’ 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


145 


‘‘ Whe-n a storm came on, and when the waves bn rst 
on our sides, and the vessel was in danger of broa( .h- 
ing to, the captain, as it were, paralyzed by fear, the 
young man seized the trumpet, and holding on by an 
after-shroud, thundered out in real seamanlike terms 
his orders, which electrified the whole crew, who flew 
to execute them. When this man stood there, trum- 
pet in hand, bare-headed, with the wind howling 
through the rigging, the vessel careening to the blast, 
the green waves bursting over her, and every thing on 
the verge of ruin, then it was that, taking the command 
of the vessel unasked, while the men had deserted 
their posts, and the passengers were crouching with 
fear, that he looked, with his hair streaming out on 
the wind, the ‘ Spirit of the Storm then it was, I 
say, that we saw he was no lubber, no common man. 
And when the storm was over, and the gentle breeze 
again wafted us pleasantly on our voyage, he sunk 
back into the retiring man as before. But after this, 
he began to mingle more with the passengers, and 
ultimately was the constant attendant of the two young 
ladies. But he seemed to have a natural antipathy to 
the English merchants, and, notwithstanding they tried 
every means to conciliate him, and offered to drink 
wine with him at table, he always refused, but in a 
pleasant, gentlemanly manner, which could not offend 
them. But they could make no kind of impression 
on him. The captain, too, I do believe, thought he 
was the devil, and was very careful not to joke him 
any more. 

‘‘ About this time> there was considerable trouble in 
the British islands ; the Eegistration Act had passed 
which was to deprive the planters of their slaves, and 

convert their happy homes into a ruin. The coloniste 
10 


146 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


could say nothing ; they were outraged, and many were 
even trying to take their slaves awaj- to the Spanish 
islands, where slavery existed ; many were interrupted 
and caught in the act, and all the islands were in a 
Btatb of tumult, and confusion. People were leaving 
a ruined country ; and many poor planters we carried 
over to the United States, with curses in their mouths 
at this mistaken act of England, in converting one 
of the most beautiful countries in the world into a 
desert. 

“ In a few days the wind freshened, and every thing 
was once more favorable; we were beginning to think 
of the end of our voyage, when one morning De 
Montreville, as he called himself, came on deck. He 
had in his mouth that everlasting cigar. As usual, he 
took the spy glass, and laying it on the bulwark, took 
a long and steady gaze. His countenance brightened 
up ; he gave a sudden start, and again looked for some 
time. The captain came up at that moment, ‘Well, 
captain,’ he quietly remarked, ‘ there is a sail ; take the 
glass, and see what you make of her.’* Here that pecu- 
liar, but not unpleasant smile gathered around his 
lips. The cajDtain took the glass, and after a long and 
steady look answered, ‘ I can’t make her out Mr. De 
Montreville; she is long and sharp, but shows too 
much canvas fora merchantman; and her yards are 
too long. What do you make of her?’ 

“ The passengers had by this time gathered near, as 
De Montreville prepared to reply. The same smile 
played around his mouth, while the white teeth added 
to the remarkable expression. He looked around 
among the passengers, ‘Captain,’ he answered, ‘it is 
hard to say ; she is too light for a cruiser, but she is 
not a trader.’ 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 147 

“ * "W el], what in the name of thunder is she then T 
brusquely demanded he. 

“ ^ How should I know V laughed the young man. 

‘‘‘Well, she has got a suspicious look,’ answered 
the captain, using his glass. 

“ ‘ Can she be one of those light Spanish vessels, 
which cruize around Cuba ?’ 

“ ‘ No no, she is too lofty, too much like a Yankee 
clipper, but” added he, ‘it may be that crazy West 
Indiaman the “ Terror,” which has caused so much 
alarm among the English merchantmen for the past 
year.’ 

“A light seemed to shoot from De Montreville’s eyes 
as the captain spoke these words; and he turned say-, 
ing, ‘ What do you refer to, captain ? you are aware 
that I am a stranger in these waters, what vessel is it, 
called the “ Terror ?” ’ 

“ ‘ Why, you must know,’ replied the old seamau, as 
he rolled his quid in his mouth, ‘ that the passage of the 
Registration and Emancipation Act, by England, has 
caused more discontent and trouble among the colo- 
nists, than ever was dreamed of by the framers of 
the madman’s plot ; madmen they are, for thus letting 
loose upon a community, a nation of brutal negroes. 
Well, thousands of families are thrown upon the 
world homeless and penniless ; for the twenty millions 
of pounds pretended to be given to the slaveholder 
will never all be paid, and, if it were, it can never com- 
pensate for the unbalanced state of things which must 
always exist ; for the negroes are the most numerous, 
and there ever will bf5 a clashing of interests. A mong 
the ruined families was one in which there was a high- 
spirited youth, who did not see fit to think as his 
rulers did, and by his actions, exposed himself to the 


148 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


anger of the government ; so he was seized, and thrown 
into prison, where he would have remained, if some 
noble fellow had not lent him a hand, and he escaped. 
The young man had been a large planter, but by some 
wire-working among the big wigs, he got nc allow 
ance for one of the finest estates in the islands. So 
this young fellow raises from his friends a sum of 
money, builds and equips a fast schooner, and has 
been playing the devil with the English ever since. 
Nothing can take him ; he is a splendid seaman, and 
could out-manoeuver Sir W alter Ealeigh himself. The 
Eome government, have even equipped a fast sailing 
vessel, and she has been searching for the “ Terror'^ 
for months, while he has been sailing about at his 
leisure. I would not wonder if they caught him after 
a while, but I hope not, for England has abused her 
trust, and acted the traitor to them all.’ 

“ ‘ Amen to that,’ fervently exclaimed De Montre- 
ville, as he caught the captain by the hand. 

“ ‘ And I hope they may catch him, and hang him 
too, for a man is never safe as long as a devil like 
him is prowling about,’ exclaimed one of the fat En- 
glish merchants. 

‘‘ De Montreville turned a quick and angry glance at 
the speaker, and replied, 'Take care, my friend, that 
your carcass does not serve as food for fish, before 
his.’ 

The Englishman looked alarmed ; but made no 
reply. 

'' * Well, but you have not told me your opinion of 
the vessel, Mr. De Montreville.’ 

‘ Suppose it ’s the Terror,” captain?’ 

‘ I would not be afraid of him, then, for he is a cliap 
of spirit, and if he is even in a bad cause, he has th^ 


tSE CREOLE ORRHA^TS. 149 

9o-^\ CO stick it out against the fastest British cruisers; 
but what do you say 

* W’ell, I thipk she is a — ’ here he paused, and 
looked around the crowd, and fastened his eyes on the 
Englishmen. 

“ ‘ A what?’ 

“ * A jpirate P 

“ ‘ A i^irate P shouted the captain, in blank amaze- 
ment, ‘ you are jesting ; you do not believe that ; 1 
know that a few pirate vessels have been reported, but 
I always thought they kept far off, out of the cruising 
grounds of the national vessels.” 

‘‘ ‘ Well captain,’ he answered, laying down the glass 
on the fife-rail, ‘Wait till eight bells to day, and you 
will see if I am deceived.’ 

“ The effect of this announcement upon the passengers 
was startling. The Englishmen seemed horror-stricken ; 
the fat old gentleman paced the deck in agitation, and 
broken expressions of alarm came from his lips. At 
last he went down into the cabin ; but not finding 
any place sufficiently capacious to conceal his bulk, he 
came again on deck. The old Spaniard merely pressed 
his lips firmly together, and looking first at the vessel, 
whose top-sails now showed distinctly above the 
horizon, and then at his two lovely daughters, who 
stood by, with pale faces and trembling forms, ex- 
claimed, ‘ We can but die together, my children :’ 
but his look expressed a deadly determination. 

“ De Montreville coolly lit another cigar, and walked 
away, leaving the group almost petrified with fear. 
He gazed at the strange sail, and when all eyes were 
turned to the same object, seemed engaged in playing 
with the signal halliards^ at the mizzer mast; but no 
one could observe that he had bent on a red ball, and 


150 




that it ascended to the mizzen-truck. Nor did any 
one observe, as he gave a sudden jerk, that the thread 
broke, and a red flag floated out sullenly at the peak. 

“ There was a brass six-pound gun onboard ; and as 
every thing had been set on the brig which would 
draw, the attention of some of the passengers was now 
attracted to it. The captain ordered up all the mus- 
kets and ammunition on board. The passengers who 
had pistols or guns brought them out, and occupied 
themselves with putting them in order. A musket 
was put in the hands of the timid old gentleman, and 
he was directed to load it. 

“ ^ Load it !’ he exclaimed, holding it out at arm’s 
length ; ‘ why, bless your soul, I never had one of the 
things in my hand before. 1 don’t know how to 
load it I’ 

“ A general laugh followed this ; but the old fellow, 
plucking courage, marched boldly up to where the 
first mate was dealing out powder and ball. He 
determined the laugh should not be on him long. 
' Oh ! I never used them much, I mean,’ he exclaimed ; 
‘but, when I was a young man, I was considered 
rather a good shot.’ This was spoken in so waver- 
ing and alarmed a tone that it called forth another 
laugh. Holding the gun, as one would an eel, by two 
fingers, he asked the mate for some ammunition. It 
was given to him. De Montreville was standing near 
him, and evidently enjoyed the old fellow’s confusion. 

“ ‘ Come, sir,’ he said ; ‘ I will be your jnstruct(>r , 
first, then, is y6ur flint in good order?’ 

“ ‘ Oh, yes,’ was the reply, as he examined it. 

‘^‘Well, then, now for the load. Where is yom 
ball? Well down with that; so! Good I Now for 
paper. Well, ram that down!’ Here, about half an 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


151 


old newspaper disappeared down tlie capacious muzzle 
of an ‘ old regulation.^ 

“ ‘ Now, for the powder. That is right — ^in with it— 
down it goes. Now, another wad! Eeturn ramrod! 
There you are I Shoulder arms 1 Now you are ready 
for all the dead pirates in the Carribbees.” 

“ The old gentleman thought that he had succeeded 
admirably, and smiled with conscious pride. 

The captain was standing by during all this scene, 
wondering and laughing ; and when the old fellow 
marched off with the gun on his shoulder, he said — 

“ ‘Well, De Montreville, you must be the deuse.’ 

“ ‘ Why, captain, when I w^s a young fellow, the 
girls did say I was a devil of a fellow,’ he answered, 
laughing. 

“ The old Spaniard, who was a pure Castilian, spoke 
(iO him. 

‘ What do you think of all these preparations, sir?’ 

“ ‘ They are useless, sir. One broadside from that 
vessel would blow us out of the water.’ The old 
man sighed ; and De Montreville turned again to the 
captain, who was now standing by the brass gun, and 
giving directions about loading it. 

“ ‘ What are you going to do with that pop'gun, 
captain ?’ he asked, smiling, contemptuously. 

“ ‘ Why, defend ourselves, to be sure.’ 

“ ‘ Look at that vessel I 

“ He obeyed. She had by this time drawn nearer, 
loomed larger and heavier than before ; and he could 
now make her out to be a large schooner, under a 
press of canvas ^ and counted eight guns to a side. 

“She was fast closing on them ; notwithstanding the 
other vessel was straining every bowline and halliard^ 
and carried every thing she had. 


^162 THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 

“ Now, do you think it sensible to risk all your 
passengers, and your vessel, against such odds? We 
have the weather-gage of her, and still she overhauls 
us as if we were a piece of sea-drift.’ 

The captain studied and looked confused ; he saw 
the force of the reasoning, but could not tell what to 
do or say. ‘Well, what must we do then; give our- 
selves up, and let all our throats be cut, without raising 
a hand in our defense ?’ 

“ ‘ Maybe she is the “ Flying Dutchman,” smiled the 
young man ; ‘ and if so, it is said if you load your gun 
with a Bible, and blaze away at her, she will disappear 
in a wreath of smoke. Suppose you try it.’ 

“ ‘ Nonsense, De Montreville ! What would you 
advise me to do ?’ 

“ ‘Why, compromise the matter, certainly. 

“ ‘ How ?’ 

“ ‘ By giving her what she asks.’ 

“ ‘ What do you think she wants?’ 

“ ‘ Why, our lives, our money, our goods, and every 
thing.’ 

“ ‘ Then, we might have the fun of shooting at her 
a few times first, if we have to give up every thing 
any how.’ 

“ ‘ What amount of specie have you got on board ? 

“ The captain glanced suspiciously at him, and 
quickly asked, 

“‘How did you know there was any specie ou 
board ?’ 

“ ‘ Why, I must be blind if I were not to notice the 
frequent visits of those English merchants to the hold ; 
their anxious looks, and those fondling ot kegs marked 
“ hardware,” and above all, their arrogant bearing.’ 

“ ‘Well, you are a close observer, certainly; but I 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


163 


(lid not suppose any one knew of the existence of that 
specie on board, except them and myself.” 

‘ Row much is there T 

“ * Two hundred thousand dollars.’ 

Yes ; well, you will only lose that.’ 

‘‘ ‘ Do you think so ?’ 

“‘Yes, that is all; you may depend on it. You 
will see Cape Cod again.’ 

“ ‘ If I thought that was all they would take I would 
not feel so uneasy; but it’s pretty hard on them. I 
hate these puffed up English anyhow.’ 

“ ‘ Do you know how they made it?’ 

“ ‘ No, I do not.’ 

“ ‘ Well, T do. They made it by supplying British 
slavers with merchandise, and money, and men, and 
then by assisting them to dispose of their slaves in 
return, to Brazilian planters, sailing under Portuguese 
colors.’ 

“ ‘ How do you know that ?’ 

“ ‘ I have seen them in their operations ; and these 
are the men who have caused so much trouble in the 
United States. These are the men who are preaching 
a crusade against the Southern States, with their hands 
fresh dyed in the blood of the slave. These are the 
men whose means go to build up the slave-trade, 
against which their voices are raised so loijj^ly.’ 

“ ‘ British slave dealers I thunder ! Well, if it is so, 
I don’t know but it would be as well for them to lose 
it all.’ 

“ During all this time, the strange vessel had been 
drawing nearer ; and her decks, covered with men, 
were seen without the aid of a glass. Every one ob- 
served the indifference of De MontreviUe, anJ the 


i54 THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 

carelessness with which he conversed ; and it gave a 
tone of confidence to all around. 

u I There goes her flag,’ said he, as an ensign floated 
out from her peak. 

‘‘ ‘ Can you make it out ?’ asked the captain, gazing 
earnestly at the flag as it flapped against the gaff. 

^••Yes,’ he replied; ‘it is a red ground; a black 
slave kneeling ; and a drawn sword.’ 

“ ‘ It is the “ Terror,” ’ exclaimed the captain, loudly, 
while the English appeared much alarmed. 

‘ Oh, if it should not be an enemy after all !’ ex- 
claimed one of the young ladies, ‘ what a fine joke it 
would be.’ 

“ ‘ Yes ; but it is an enemy.’ 

“ ‘ Do you think so ?’ 

“ ‘ I know it.’ 

“ ‘ What are the signs ?’ 

“ ‘ Many : the flag is one, her actions are one, and 
her silence — ’ 

“ The exhibition of the red flag now floating out, and 
displaying itself fully, had caused a degree of conster- 
nation to all on board ; and a great commotion was 
observed. 

“ The captain came aft, where De Montreville was 
standing. ‘ Sure enough,’ said he, ‘ your conjecture 
was rights What are we to do ?’ 

“ ‘Why, the best we can. You have answered her 
signal,’ he continued, casting his eyes up. The cap- 
tain looked also in the direction he pointed, and there, 
at the peak of the brig, floated a similar flag to the 
one exhibited by the schooner. A look of blank 
amazement sat upon the countenance of the sailor, as 
he asked in a faltering tone, 


THE CREOLE ORPHAN’S. 165 

“ ‘ How in the name of Creation did that flag get 
there 

‘ Why, I presume it was hoisted there. ^ 

“ * Did you see any one do it ?’ 

“ ‘ Not I : ask some of your crew. It is not my 
place to be your quarter-master.’ 

“ The men were called aft, one and all ; and swore 
that they did not hoist it, and saw no one do it. The 
passengers all testified to the same thing. Here was a 
nice state of things. 

‘ I am bewitched,’ cried the captain, in a rage ; ‘ no 
one knows how a flag is hoisted on the vessel. Every 
thing is mysterious — out of the course of nature ; and 
1 do believe the ‘‘ Spirit of the Sea” is abroad. No one 
knows how that devil’s rag got up there ; then there 
it shall stay ; and if we go to the bottom, it shall go 
with us, flying at the peak.’ 

“ The old seamen shook their heads, and cast a sus- 
picious glance at the bloody flag which waved gloom- 
ily over head, as if placed there by the ‘ Demon of 
the Sea.’ 

“ The chase was now within a mile and a half of the 
brig, and rapidly nearing. All hands stood and gazed 
at her approach, in stupid wonder and alarm. 

“ In a moment more, a wreath of smoke curled from 
one of her forward ports, the sharp crack of a gun-, 
vibrated on the air, and a shot whistled ahead of thet 
brig. They had been heading to the south-west, but 
changed her course a point, as the brig changed hers:. 
In working the vessel, the men went slowly, and with 
reluctance, to their duty. The affair of the flag had! 
been evidently preying on their minds, and with their 
natural superstition, they yielded to an influence which 


156 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


they dared not grapple with. They at once attributed 
tlie elevation of the flag to supernatural agency. 

“ ‘ That is a signal which you had best not disregard, 
captain/ remarked De Montreville. 

“ He hesitated a moment, and then replied, that as 
there was no other course left for him to pursue, he 
supposed he must obey ; and, accordingly, orders 
were given to shorten sail. As the sails were quiver- 
ing in the winds, and the headway checked through 
the water, the schooner drew nearer, and her sailing 
qualities were more perceptible. The maintopsail was 
laid to the mast, and she remained stationary, merely 
drifting along. The schooner was within a quarter of 
a mile of the brig, and as she neared her, the men 
were distinctly seen through the open ports ; she gently 
fell off the wind, and lay with her sails shivering. Fe- 
rocious faces, covered with shaggy beards of months’ 
growth, scowled upon them through the ports, and 
over the hammock nettings, while her long Spanish 
guns were terrible to behold, as they protruded threat- 
eningly from their ports ; seemingly only awaiting a 
signal to open a volcano of flame and iron from their 
dark mouths. As they lay in this position, an officer 
sprang into the mizen rigging of the schooner with a 
trumpet. When near enough, a hoarse hail was 
brought over the water. 

“ ' What vessel is that ?’ 

‘ Shall I reply, sir T asked De Montreville, seizing 
the trumpet. 

* Ay, ay I do, sir.’ 

He stepped to the rigging, and, mounting a few 
rattlins, answered : ‘ Brig “ Sea Foam,” from New 
York, for Guiana.’ 

A murmur of voices was heard, at first like the 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 167 

faint moan of the sobbing waves upon the sandy shore, 
then louder, as if those waves had been awakened ; it 
rose louder, and then swelled into a deafening cheer. 
It ceased, and again it rose on the breeze. Again it 
died away, and once more that cheer ascended loud 
and long from the schooner. All looked in astonish- 
ment at each other. De Montreville alone was calnu 
When the cheers arose, and the sea and air re-echoed 
to the sound, he smiled, and, ah ! that smile! how sig- 
nificant and full of meaning 1 and his lips curled, as if 
in pride or scorn. A few minutes more, and a fully 
manned and armed boat was seen to shove off from 
the schooner, and approach the brig. Each soul waited 
breathless, and in silence. It pulled around to the 
starboard side, and an officer stepped over the gang- 
way. A half look of recognition passed between him 
and De Montreville, which the latter instantly checked 
by a slight frown. The officer then walked up to the 
captain, and asked for the brig’s papers. These were 
brought out, and placed on the capstan. He advanced, 
and took them up. The crowd of passengers was, by 
this time, all huddled together in a group near the 
break of the poop, conversing in a low tone of voice, 
all except the old Spaniard, who stood with a pistol 
in each hand, between the stranger and his two 
daughters. 

“ ^ These are all right, captain,’ remarked the lieu 
tenant, with a smile, as he checked off certain items 
with a pencil ‘ and now, will you oblige me by hav- 
ing hoisted up from the hold those kegs containing 
“ hardware ?” ’ 

‘‘ ‘ You said so,’ observed the captain to De Montre- 
ville, ‘ and now I believe you are the devil or — ’ 

‘ The commander of that vessel,’ replied he, laugh 


168 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


ing. ‘ Yes, ladies and gentlemen,’ he added, as he 
turned to the surprised crowd ; ‘ you see before you 
the first ofiicer of that vessel. Nay, start not ! no barm 
is intended ; we will only relieve the gentlemen of that 
specie, which they can easily replace out of the first 
cargo of slaves ; and then depart in peace. Come, to 
work !’ 

‘‘ The captain of the brig appealed to the passen- 
gers to sustain him, and to bear witness that he was 
forced to yield to the power of arms. Upon the order 
being repeated, the brig s men went to work to hoist 
out the heavy kegs, and they soon appeared on deck. 
The Englishmen protested loudly against the act, and 
begged most piteously that he would not allow his 
men to proceed in their labors. He turned a deaf ear 
to their cries. They then informed him that the money 
was not considered strictly a portion of the cargo, but 
as private baggage. At length the money was all out, 
and to their importunities he at length replied, 

“ ^ I choose to think as I please ; I am the enemy of 
every thing English. Shelias been to me a harsh and 
cruel mother. My ancestors were the possessors of 
fair lands and broad domains ; they had appertained to 
them for centuries, their fields teemed with golden 
grain, and their meadows were filled with flocks and 
herds ; England with her corrupt ministers, hypocriti- 
cal divines, her unjust judiciary, and dishonest peers, 
have framed laws to swindle and defraud. One of my 
ancestors was an adherent to the cause of that most 
unfortunate person. Prince Charles Edward, and when 
he landed in Scotland he joined him there; he was 
with him in his troubles, and sheltered him in hia 
mansion ; he remained faithful to him in his adve^sit3^ 
and took leave of him when he sailed for Fraac^e. For 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS 


159 


tl s, our family estates were confiscated ; our honor- 
al ie house broken up, and driven forth wanderers and 
ptnniless. I have visited our ancient birthplace ; the 
fo^ burrows in the vaults, the lizzard casts its noisome 
slime over the walls, the owl sends forth her dismal 
3 ry from its towers, and all is desolation and decay ; 3 
hav'e descended into the vaults where the bones of my 
forefathers lie, and I have sworn by them to be avenged 
‘ My father died a broken-hearted wanderer. But 
thij is not all ; fortune smiled and a beautiful home 
was ours in the islands, now made hideous by the bar- 
barous negro, by this most unjust act of England, in 
giving freedom to so many savages ; and again were we 
driven forth, wanderers again ; I was seized, my limbs 
were ironed, our lovely island home was desolated, and 
in ruins, and I in British irons, and for what? Why 
for merely urging upon my fellow sufferers, to refuse 
to s.;nction such an act of injustice. For this am I 
the enemy of England, and every thing that is Eng- 
lish ! With her and me there is no reconciliation ; in 
war and peace I am the same. This is the cause of 
mj^ present position. Come Mr. Squillgee,’ he said 
turning to the coxswain of the boat, ‘get those kegs oflf^ 
“ There was now seen another boat pushing off from 
the tichooner ; it was the launch, and filled with men 
also. When it came alongside, the kegs of specie 
were handed down into her, and she prepared to re 
turn. The Englishmen looked with wistful eyes at the 
departing boat, and sighed. The steward of the biig 
was passing at this moment with several bottles of wine. 
De Montreville beckoned him, and taking one from 
him, ordered a glass. This was brought, ‘ Now cap- 
tain,’ I will drink your health, and ; yours my friends/ he 
addt I looking toward the other passengers. Here he 


160 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


struck the neck of tlie bottle against the capstan, and 
as it flew off, the red wine was spilt on the deck, ‘ That 
is the only blood I ever have shed,’ he said as he pour- 
ed out a brimming glass. ‘ Come, cheer up my heart- 
ies!’ he exclaimed, addressing the Englishmen, ^you 
little thought when you were abusing the captain of 
the ‘^Terror,” that he was before you. Suppose I 
treat you now, as you wished me served; but nevej 
fear ; he laughed as he saw consternation depicted on 
their countenances, ‘ I won’t hang you this time ; we 
will meet again. Keep up a good heart, you will soon 
make up what you have lost. There are plenty more 
of your countrymen wanting outfits for slave voyages.’ 
Then turning to the Spanish girls he said, ‘ Am I so 
very terrible a pirate after all ?’ 

'‘Just at this moment a voice sung out forward ‘ sail 
ho 1’ All hands sprung in the direction pointed out 
it was on the starboard bow. The captain directed 
the glass in that quarter, and after a moment exclaim 
ed, ‘ It is a heavy vessel.’ De Montreville took the 
glass, and then as he laid it down, quietly said, ‘you 
are right, captain ; it is a large and heavy vessel, it is a 
British frigate.’ All eyes were directed to his counte- 
nance as he said this, but not a trace of emotion could 
be seen ; all was as calm as a summer sea. There was 
an agitation, and whispering among the English, who 
were standing some distance off. 

De Montreville smiled, and turned to the captain, 
* yes, captain, jmu will be compelled to follow the re- 
quest of those gentlemen ; you must communicate 
your loss to that British cruiser.’ 

“ The captain looked surprised, while, as he spoke in a 
loud voice the English started, and seemed confused and 
alarmed ; for that was the subject of their conversation. 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS 


161 


“ • Weil, if you see the commander of that frigate, 
present my respects, and tell him to catch me^ if he canP 
FTo remained a few minutes longer, then, bidding a 
courteous farewell to the passengers, followed the 
lieutenant into the boat. The captain went to the 
gangway : ‘ Hold on a moment,’ he said, ‘ I shall 
never be satisfied, until I find out how you knew there 
was specie in those kegs ?’ 

“ ‘ Oh,’ answered he laughing, ‘ that is easy enough, 
1 was in the agent’s office when the arrangement was 
made in New York ; but I knew it was to be shipped 
before you arrived in New York, on your last trip, 
from my agent in Demerara.’ 

“ ‘ Then,’ replied the captain, * you are not the devil 
after all.’ 

‘ Not a bit of it.’ 

“ The boat shoved off, and a few minutes’ sturdy pull- 
ing, brought them to the schooner ; the falls were 
hanging over the boom, ready for the boat, and tackle 
ready to hook ; the boat was soon hauled up, sail 
made on the schooner, and when the sun was sinking, 
her hull was not visible to the brig, or frigate, which 
had by this time come into view ; and only a few 
white specks were seen, like the wing of a sea bird on 
the horizon.” 

Oh beautiful I beautiful !” exclaimed all the ladies^ 
“ it would make quite a delightful novel if you onlj 
hixd put a little love in it.” 

“Well, I am glad you like it,” he answered, “ fa 
this is the only pirate story I can tell t'o-night ; I mug 
go and write up my log-book, and take a lunar observ 
ation.” So saying he aiose, and throwing his ciga? 
over the taffrail, passed forward, calling all hands tc 
change watch. 


CHAPTER XV. 


“ The morning watch was come ; the vessel Uy 
Her course, and gently made her liquid way ; 

The cloven billows flashed from off her prow 
In furrows formed by that majestic plow.” 

The Island; 

rpiIE next day, about noon, the blue mountaias 
which intersect Porto Eico, appeared in sight like 
azure clouds on the horizon. 

In nearing the island, they were charmed at the 
extreme verdure which covered the rocks rising per- 
pendicularly from the water. The tall cocoa-nut and 
palm-trees, arose straight and slender on the terraced 
heights; and the white villas embovrered in bananas, 
formed a scene of extreme beauty and fertility. As 
they passed along the shore, peaceful and quiet vil- 
lages appeared at the foot of the mountains which 
were clothed with dark green forests, and whose sum- 
mits seemed to reach the clouds. The town of San 
Juan on the northern side, the port to which the ves- 
sel was consigned, was in sight, built on a fine high 
eminence on the end of the peninsula. 

The vessel entered the harbor just at sunset, and as 
the evening gun was fired from the fort. The Spanish 
authorities came on board before the anclior was drop- 
ped, and no permits were given to land that evening. 

Colonel Ormond learned from them that there was 
a French vessel to sail in the morning for the Caribbees ; 
this gave him great pleasure, and by the aid of a small 


THE CREOLE ORPHAN sT 163 

golden present, the official undertook to convey to 
the master of the craft a note desiring him to remair 
until they could be allowed to change to it in the 
morning. 

There were a good many vessels in the haibor, and 
it pleased our friends to see the “stars and strips” 
floating among them, and to hear the sweet familiar 
language of home, ever and anon arising amid tho 
confusion of tongues. 

The passengers gathered on deck and passed tho 
evening in pleasant conversation, in exchanging cour- 
tesies, and amusing each other with tales, in which 
the captain bore a conspicuous part. 

The moon, just then a slender crescent arose, and 
threw a tinge of silver upon the town, the shipping, 
and the harbor ; and the evening breeze ruffled the 
water, causing tiny wavelets, which formed a sweet 
and soothing music. The distant sounds softened by 
the space betweei; the vessel and the town, the bursts 
of laughter from the forecastles of the different crafts 
in port, the light song, the big round oath and the 
tinkling of a guitar, all spoke a new and strange sh^re; 
and these mingled with the creaking of rudders, the 
rattle of cordage and swaying of the spars, the hail of 
“ Who goes there ?” and “ Qui vive T’ from the sentries, 
and the tap of the drum from the fort, the noise of 
turning out the guard, and the cry of the guard on 
the mole ; all told of strange sights and sounds to be 
seen and heard. 

In the morning, the Custom-house officer came on 
board, gave our passengers permission to depart and 
exchange vessels. This was welcome news, the cap- 
tain had his own boat manned, and took them over 
himself to the French schooner. The master of the 


164 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


vessel had signified his consent previously to receive 
them. 

The parting with the old captain was affecting. 

'‘Blast my eyes!” he exclaimed, as he shoved off; 
“ I have followed the salt water for many years and 
made many a voyage, and had many a bright-eyed 
passenger, but none I liked as well as I do these ” 
Dr. Grant threw a handful of silver into the boat 
among the men, and his liberality was greeted by 
cheers from them. The other passengers expressed 
great regret at the separation, and many kind invita- 
tions were extended to our party to visit them. 

“ Well,” exclaimed the doctor, as he yawned and 
looked around, after having the baggage stowed in 
the cabin, and the ladies made comfortable. “ Here 
we are, regular citizens of the glorious United States,' 
taking a cruise among the cannibals of the Caribbee 
Islands; a perfect wild goose-chase, and if we get 
back safe and sound it will be a wonder. Who would 
have thought it a fortnight ago?” 

“Well, doctor,” laughed Ormond, “take it easy, 
we will get back safe, and it will do to talk about 
over our wine and cigars.” 

“Oh, dear Louisiana! with your civilization and 
refinement; a man never knows how to appreciate 
you until he leaves your fertile shores.” 

“Why, doctor, you are getting quite sentimental!” 
exclaimed Marie ; “but see, there comes our captain ; 
we are about to sail.” 

The commander in truth now came forward and 
welcomed them, apologized for his poor accommoda- 
tions, but hoped for a speedy trip. 

Ormond replied, and assured him that they were suf- 
ficient, and that the obligations they were under would 


TSfi CBEOLE OBBfiAK-S. 165 

counterbalance any inconvenience they were subjected 
to. He bowed and smiled as only a Frenchman can, 
and left them to get his craft under weigh. 

When this was done, he had an awning rigged, and 
a hammock swung; wine was brought, and the time 
passed very pleasantly. The land breeze had sprung 
up, with it the sails of the vessel swelled out, and they 
swiftly left the harbor. They passed the island of St. 
Thomas, and before night the high land of Santa Cruz 
had sunk into the ocean. 

It was on the morning of the third day that the 
mountains of Martinique were seen, a blue line on the 
water, and among them were the Montague Pelee, 
whose top seemed tipped with silver. 

Ever since their departure from Louisiana, the 
health of Mrs. Grant had appeared to improve. She 
was no longer affected with that difficulty of breathing 
which characterizes persons suffering under pulmonary 
disease ; the hectic flush had departed, strength seemed 
to be almost restored, and her appetite heretofore ca- 
pricious and variable, appeared to have returned. She 
no longer required the support of the doctor, but 
seemed in all respects benefited. He was delighted; 
and when she took his hand and fondly smiled saying, 
‘‘ Doctor, I believe your ‘ wild-goose chase’ will effect 
a cure in your invalid,” none were more pleased than 
his two friends, and he turned off with a full heart 
and a prayer of thankfulness trembling on his lips. 

As they approached the coast of the island, the 
land seemed to rise and gradually become elevated to 
the mountains, which occupy the center. A dense 
forest extended up their sides, and high up in the 
region of the clouds could be seen the white villas 
- glittering in the sunbeams. 


166 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


Upon the Bay of Port Eoyal stands the town of the 
same name. 

When it became visible, Marie was standing by the 
bulwarks, gazing toward the land, and an indescriba- 
ble feeling pervaded her soul. Before her lay llie 
place of her nativity, of her childhood’s happiness, 
and of her sorrows. In the cemetery lay the bones ol 
her sire ; but, ah ! her mother, that gentle being whose 
pitying eye and loving hand had guided her infant 
footsteps ; where was she ? It was true that she 
scarcely remembered her, that only a dim vision of 
soft hands, gentle caresses, and tender words floated 
through her memory ; but she knew that the ocean’s 
briny wave hoarsely sung her dirge, and that in its 
coral caves and wreaths of sea- weed her bones lay un- 
sanctified. But she remembered the laughing rivulet 
which came dashing down the mountain slope in the 
rear of the garden ; she remembered the tall cocoanut- 
trees waving their broad leaves in the tropical air, the 
mango skirting the stream, and dipping its long 
branches, loaded with golden clusters of ripe fruit, in 
the cool water ; and the bright-winged birds too, and 
the flowering shrubs, all these were too faithfully re- 
membered. 

Again, her departure from home for France; the 
years of kindness from the good ladies of the convent, 
the agonizing news of her mother’s loss, and her re- 
turn to her island home. 

She remembered the little cottage of her aunt, in 
which she then dwelt, at the foot of the hill, where 
bIic, a beauteous and artless maiden, gathered shells, 
made fairy bowers, laved her fair arms in the crystal 
stream, twined flowers in her dark hair, and dreamed 
of a love which she had never felt 


THE :51iE0LE ORPHANS. 


167 


Ay! and she remembered her kind old aunt; and 
old “Juba,” the slave, who used to fix out her borders 
of flowers ; and the visit of Berwick, the black-hearted 
fiend, who, under the guise of kindness, visited their 
little cot, and prevailed on her relative to allow Marie 
to accompany them to Jamaica. She recalled the de 
light it gave her when preparing, and the voyage, the 
kindness of Berwick and his wife. 

But, ah ! she did not forget the termination of that 
voyage, the agony and the horror, the deathlike stu- 
pefaction which took possession of her, when she was 
coolly informed by him that she was to be sold as a 
slave, her prayers and tears, and the cruel taunts of 
the devil who laughed at her misery. No, nor did 
she forget the slave-mart where she was put up and 
sold, and saw the gold counted out for her. 

She never could forget these things; they were im 
printed in her memory, and seared in her brain as 
with a hot iron, which left its indelible mark forever. 

But she remembered the kind words which Ormond 
spoke to her, for it was his words of kindness and pity 
which had found an echo in her breast ; those kind 
words which had, like a gentle south wind, touched 
the strings of her souks harp, and called forth sweet 
and soothing tones, and made her love and trust in 
him. 

Such were the feelings which filled the soul of Mario, 
and wrapt her mind in its own recollections, as she 
leaned against the bulwarks and gazed toward the 
bright isle. 

Ormond stood by her side ; but he was silent. He 
imagined the intensity of her mind^s workings; that 
her feelings were wrought up to the highest pitch 
that her thoughts were too sacred for interruption-- 


168 


THE OEEOLE OEPHAI^S. 


and lie was silent ; but bis spirit communed with here 
as he stood by her, and he also gazed at the land which 
they were rapidly nearing — that land 

“ Which wooed him, whispering lovely tales 
Of many a flowering glade, 

And founts’ bright gleam in island-vales, 

Of golden-fniited shade.” 

They approached the harbor and entered it about 
midday, between Forts Bourbon and Louis, frowning 
on them, and the tricolored flag of France waving ©n 
the breeze. There was no opposition to their imme- 
diate disembarkation, and they left the vessel at once. 

As Mrs. Grant was considerably fatigued, they took 
up their residence at the anherge 'premier of the town. 
Their rooms were large and airy, a spacious covered 
balcony overlooking the bay, and the sea or land 
breeze ever blowing, which rustled the colored muslin 
curtains pleasantly. Cool India matting covered the 
floors, and vases of flowers, which gave out their fra- 
grance, were placed around the room, and fans of 
woven grass to cool the heated atmosphere. On the 
whole, it was extremely novel and delightful, and the 
females now reposed themselves after the fatigues of 
the voyage. 

Colonel Ormond and the doctor took a ramble ; 
they wondered at the antique cast of the buildings, 
and made their remarks on the unusual sights which 
presented themselves, at the costumes of the people, 
the merchants, soldiers. Creoles and beggars, with a 
sprinklin/; of negroes. 

Colon^i Ormond inquired of an aged Creole at the 
market, if he remembered the person of an old Creole 
woman named De Lange, who was Marie’s aunt, and 
who formerly lived in the rear of the town ? 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


169 


The old man thoughtfully replied, Indeed^- mom 
sieur, I do remember an old lady of the name, who 
lived at the foot of the mountain; but years have 
passed since she has been dead. It is difficult to re- 
member persons in this country ; the changes have 
been great; so many different rulers have we had^ 
and so often has the flag of England waved ovei 
us, that many of our old citizens are dead or re- 
moved.” 

He replied, “ We are strangers here ; I have a letter 
for the Prefet Aposiolique, Can you direct me to his 
residence ?” 

“ Certainly, monsieur,” answered the obliging old 
man, and walking on before for some distance, he 
pointed out a large building on a square: ‘‘There, 
monsieur, his reverence lives. Ah I and he is a holy 
and good man I” He paused ; they thanked him, and 
passed on. 

The palace of the prefect, or the superior ecclesiastic 
of the island, was situated on one side of a square, 
fronting some public buildings, and near the cathedral. 
As they passed the door of the mansion they observed 
a good many persons in waiting; hence they con- 
cluded to defer their visit until the following day. 

It is not our intention to give a minute detail of 
their actions here. Our time must be occupied with 
more absorbing themes. 

That evening a ramble was proposed ; the whvfle 
party sallied out, and turned their footsteps to the sub- 
urbs of the town, where the beauty of the villas of 
the foreijm merchants embowered in foliage invited 
them to linger. Thence, at the instance of Marie, they 
sauntered toward the old quarter of the town; she 
hoped to see the residence of her childhood as it was 


170 


THE CHEOLE OREHAKS. 


once ; and yet she half wished that she might be dis- 
appointed, as in truth she was ; the mountain slope 
was the same, and there was even one old familiar 
palm-tree, but the home which had sheltered the youth- 
ful Marie, was gone, and in its place, arose the proud 
dwelling of an English merchant; innovation was 
even here. Progress, in this far off clime, had raised 
her head. All was changed; the little stream which 
once had run so merrily, keeping time, in its silver 
murmurs, with the clear and bell-like voice of Marie, 
was choked up, and gone ; its bed was dry ; there was 
no familiar spot to the eye ; even the little birds, her 
playmates and friends, were fled ; her flowers disap- 
peared, she felt like a stranger in her childhood’s homf' ; 
she heaved a deep sigh, and turned sorrowfully awa3^ 

The next morning Colonel Ormond alone walked 
to the Palazzo of the head churchman. There were as 
usual a great many persons in waiting ; among them 
could be noticed an oflScer or two of the F rench army 
and others, who seemed to wait the pleasure of this 
functionary. The arrival of Colonel Ormond attract- 
ed unusual attention, and he had to undergo the scru- 
tiny of a dozen pairs of eyes. 

He had not long to wait after sending in his card 
and letter. He had anticipated rather a haughtj^ re- 
ception from the churchman, from the aristocratic state 
which surrounded him ; but what was his agreeable 
surprise, upon being ushered into his presence, in a 
small room fitted up as a cabinet, to find a gentlemanly, 
urbane person, apparently about sixty years of age, 
who received him as a fond father would a son. 

He arose, and met him with extended hands. 

“ My son,” he said, in the most bland manner, “ I 
am glad to be able to meet you ; and how did you 


THU CRUOLE OKUHAKS. 


171 


leave onr worthy friend ?” he added, tapping the let- 
ter which he held open in his hand. 

Ormond assured him of the good health of his cor- 
respondent. A chair was placed, and he was requested 
to sit down. 

“ You must not think,” he said, smiling, “ that wa 
are hard to approach, because of the mode we do bus- 
iness ; for there is a great deal of work for us ; and 
we have to reduce it to a system.” There were sever- 
al priests in the room, with whom it appeared his 
business was concluded, for he delivered to them 
several papers, and terminated his discourse in a low 
tone. 

While thus engaged, Ormond had an opportunity 
to make a few observations. The room in which they 
were in, overlooked a court-yard ; in the center of 
which, a fountain threw up its crystal jet of water, and 
falling again, burst into a little shower of spray, that 
imparted a delicious coolness to the atmosphere. A 
border of dark mold surrounded the fountain, and a 
thick circle of rich flowering shrubs, lent a sweetness 
to the air, which even penetrated the study wherein he 
sat. 

A row of arched doors bounded the prospect. 

The room itself was furnished plainly. In a niche 
in the wall, was an ivory statuette of Jesus, and oppo- 
site, one of the same material of Mary, while on an- 
other portion hung a splendid painting of Christ bear- 
ing his cross; which Ormond, as a dear lover of the 
beautiful, knew to be from none other than an Italian 
haucL 

On the other side, hung a large map of the French 
West Indies; and a rosary of silver was suspended 
beneath it. A small cabinet of rich workmanship waa 


172 THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 

placed on one side, and appeared to be filled with pa- 
[)ers. 

The Prefect now arose, and as the priests withdrew, 
he approached our friend. 

‘‘ Mj son, I again welcome you, and must ask. Is 
there aught in which our poor services can avail 
you?” 

Pleased with his mildness, and suavity of manner, 
Ormond, as he gazed at the venerable prelate, felt an 
instinctive love and reverence for him. 

“ Father,” he replied at once — but at first in rathei 
a confused, and embarrassed manner, “ My story is long, 
and I fear will tire your good nature.” 

“ Proceed my son, speak freely, let naught restrain 
you,” he said, drawing a chair close to his side. 

Ormond began, and gave him a history of the ab- 
duction of Marie, her sale as a slave, and of her pur- 
3hase ; his connection with her, the birth of his chil- 
dren, his present situation and wishes in regard to her, 
the reason why he did not wish to make the matter 
public in Louisiana ; and of his views and wishes in 
regard to Marie. 

When he first commenced, the ecclesiastic fixed his 
large dark eyes on his countenance with an interest in 
his story ; but, as he proceeded, the Prefect gave a 
slight start; and riveted his gaze more intently, and 
with a melancholy interest upon him. 

lie heard him through without interruption, and 
when he had finished, replied : 

“ My son, you are impelled by honor to make this 
reparation ; it is a noble sentiment ; and also I hope, 
by a belief in your responsibility to society, and a de- 
sire to obey the word of Grod, which encourages mat- 
rimony. You have been very neglectful, but at the 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


178 


eleventli hoar, it is n^t even too late. Your views are 
high and virtuous, and your purpose sincere ; joui 
wishes are natural, to protect those whom God haa 
given to you. But your story has awakened a train 
ol memories, which, had they never been retouched, 
would have gradually faded into dusty oblivion. I 
dare not even now, until I have had time to collect my 
thoughts, and consult papers, say more to you, but 
I may say to you. I believe God has sent you to me. 
Oh, how wonderful are his ways !” 

So meaning were the looks of the priest, and so 
strange his words, that Ormond felt an awe which he 
could not account for stealing over him, and a thou- 
sand impressions were scattered confusedly through his 
mind. He scarcely knew what to .think, but one ques- 
tion was ever foremost. “ Has he ever heard of Marie 
before ? Does he know any thing of the history of 
her parents ?” 

The Prefect remained silent a few moments in a 
musing attitude ; then looking up, he said : 

“ In case you have to carry into effect your views 
regarding the emancipation, it will be simple. There 
must be prepared a petition, in which you must state 
your wishes; as the same law rules here that is in 
force in Louisiana. When this is presented to the 
judge, and there is no opposition, letters of manumis- 
sion are granted. There will be a delay of twenty 
days. But, my son, since you have come to me, I 
have h^d old recollections aroused, and it may be that 
I have the key to your happiness in my hands.” 

Ormond started. “Nay, my son! be not too san- 
guine I bid you not even to hope ; but come to me 
at twelve the day after to-morrow, at this place, and 
perchance, I may be the means of giving you some 


174 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


joyful tidings.” Ormond arose; he was bewildered. 
The words of the venerable man had excited his hopes ; 
and he wished, he hardly knew what; but he bade 
him adieu with a full and grateful heart, and hastened 
to rejoin his friends. 

To Dr. Grant he narrated faithfully all the circum* 
stances attending his interview. 

‘ Well, Ormond, something will come of it, sure. 
1 am glad we have come.” 

The time passed; and, on the appointed day, Or- 
mond found himself among a crowd waiting an audi- 
ence at the Prefect’s palace. He was expected; and 
as soon as he sent his card, was admitted to the 
presence of the churchman. He received him with 
even more kindness than before ; and smiled benignly 
on him as he gave him his blessing. 

After the usual salutations were finished, he said — 
“It is as I expected, and I am able to be the bearer 
of good news ; but there is one who can reply more 
satisfactorily to your questions than I can.” He arose, 
and rang a small bell on the table. A lay brother 
appeared. “ Martin,” he said, “ Father Moi&e.” 

The brother left the apartment ; and in a few mo- 
ments there entered a person whose mild and noble 
countenance, united with his venerable appearance, 
caused Ormond involuntarily to do him reverence. 
He was a tall and aged man, whose snowy hair, unlike 
the clergy’s generally, fell over his shoulders in a mass. 
His eye was a deep blue, and beamed peace and good- 
will to all men. He was attired in the common dress 
of the order; and was indeed an imposing and holy- 
looking man. “ Father Moiese,” exclaimed the Pre- 
fect, as he presented him to Ormond, and waved him 
to a seat, “this is the gentleman to whom youi 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


175 


communication must be made.” Then turning to 
Ormond, he said; “I had to dispatch a messengervto 
Father Moi&e, who is a parochial priest, and lives 
about thirty miles from here; and, as he is aged, 1 
appointed this day for you to meet him here.” 

Ormond expressed his deep regret that he had been 
the cause of giving so much trouble to the good pries L 

“ I would do much more to serve one humbler than 
you, my son,” answered the old man, mildly. 

“ Proceed, father !” said the Prefect. 

I was sent for one evening,” commenced the priest, 
now some eight years ago, to receive the confession 
of a dying woman, a Quadroon. She was very ill, and 
wished to make a statement to me in a matter in 
which she had been concerned, and in which she 
thought she had not acted altogether right. She said 
thal she had been the attendant and friend of a young 
French officer attached to the ordinance department 
of Port-Eoyal, many years before. His name was 
Horace St. Medard. During his residence at Port- 
Eoyal, he had fallen in love with, and married a beau- 
tiful Creole girl, by the name of Marie St. Valle. They 
had one child, whom they named Marie, after her 
mother. The father died of the yellow fever, and left 
to his widow a small property. The widow, whose 
marriage had been private, lived very retired; and 
had sent her child to Paris to be educated in a convent. 
She was young when she left home. The mother, in 
a few years, determined to make Paris her home, as 
her relatives all resided in France. The ship in which 
she sailed was capsized at sea, and all on board 
perished. Then the iilea first occurred to the woman 
(who had charge of the property in Port-Eoyal until 
it could be disposed of) to send for the young Marie, 


170 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


claim her as a niece, and thus retain the property for 
her own use. 

The plan was put in execution, and carried out ; 
and, upon the return of the child, then some ten years 
old, she went to live with the woman, who represented 
herself as her aunt. Things remained in this con- 
dition until the girl haa grown up into a handsome 
woman, when she was persuaded by a Captain Ber- 
wick to allow the girl to pay a visit, with his wife and 
himself, to his estates in Jamaica. She agreed to it. 
They sailed, and she had never seen them more. The 
woman, who really loved the girl, took it much to 
heart, and when she did not return, and time passed 
on, sold out the property and removed into the 
country. She was taken sick, and now, on he^ death- 
bed, she made this confession, and gave into my keep- 
ing a large package of family papers, including the 
marriage-certificate, and other important documents. 
The woman died, but I had the precaution to send for 
a notary, who took down from her own lips the 
tale.” 

During this recital, Ormond trembled violently; 
cold drops of perspiration trickled down his forehead ; 
he gasped for breath ; and at length managed tc 
articulate, as he looked fervently upward — 

“ Oh, God ! I thank thee that thou hast led my 
footsteps hither.” 

‘‘That is right, my son,” exclaimed the Prefect; 
“ return your thanks where due — ^to the Almighty.” 

Ormond asked, hesitatingly, “ And, good father, 
have you these papers with you?” 

“I have, my son!” he answered; as he drew from 
bis breast a packet of yellow, and time-colored paper, 
tied with a black ribbon. 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


177 


Ormond reached out his hands to grasp them, and 
pressed them convulsively, as if fearful of letting them 
escape. With a trembling hand he untied the string, 
and behold I before him were the evidences of his hap* 
piness. Hastily did he peruse them. The certificate, 
deeds, letters to Marie’s mother, from her father. 
How he prized them I Marie’s mother, oh, delightful 
thought! Her mother! That connection between 
the past and present. The shame-spot was now re- 
moved forever. His heart was light already — ^happi- 
ness ! His Marie had parents to whom she could look 
back without shame — with pride. The blot on his 
children’s name could now be removed forever ; there 
was no blood in their veins but what was pure — no at- 
tainting stream to poison life to its core. The two 
priests gazed on him with interest, as these conflicting 
feelings made themselves visible ‘in his countenance. 
The Prefect again rung the bell, and a domestic ap- 
peared, bearing a salver and wine. He pressed Or- 
mond to drink, thinking it might calm his agitation. 

“ Oh, what do I not owe you both 1” exclaimed he, 
grasping their hands ; “life and happiness, all; every 
thing ! Can I repay you ? take my fortune ! all, and 
it would never half repay you.” 

“ Father,” he continued, “do you leave the city soon!” 

“ In a few days, my son.” 

“ Then I will see you again ; do not detain me ; I 
seek those who wait for me, never dreaming of that 
immense happiness in store for them ! Forgive me if 
I go now ; I will see you and thank you when I am 
calmer. I go now ; bless me both.” 

“ God bless you, my son !” exclaimed both the 
priests, as they laid their hands on his head. 

Ormond arose, and rushed from the apartment 
13 ■ 


178 


THE CKE \LE ORPHANS. 


Shall we follow him to the hotel? Shall we attempt 
to depict Marie’s joy, their friends’ happiness? Oh, 
no! it is too sacred, we will not attempt it, we would 
miserably fail ; but we know that there was joy too 
great, happiness too great for utterance, and the swob 
len bosom must — must find relief in tears! 

It was several days before Ormond called again at 
the Prefect’s palace. He was received as usual with 
kindness, and found closeted with the prelate a dis- 
tinguished avocat, who practiced in the courts of the 
island. He was a vivacious little Frenchman, and 
when the subject of Ormond’s visit was brought up, 
he entered into it warmly. 

Monsieur,” he said to Ormond, ‘‘I would advise 
you to effect the acknowledgment of your children in 
your own State; it would effect no good here, and 
would be easier of reference.” 

Father Moiese now entered the room, and was 
greeted by Ormond only as a grateful heart can feel. 

“There is one thing, monsieur,” said the Prefect, 
“you will attend to. We have your property in 
charge, which is the rightful inheritance of the mother 
of your children ; the Church has the revenue, and is 
ready at once to relinquish it. You will find she has 
been a faithful steward.” 

“I am grieved,” replied Ormond, “that you deem 
me ungrateful enough to take it. The Church must 
keep it ; my circumstances place it in my power to do 
this without any injury to myself.” 

At first it was rejected, but by the firm refusal of 
Ormond to receive it, they agreed that the Church 
should be the recipient ; and it was arranged that the 
present avocat should wait upon Marie at the hotel, to 
receive her renunciation of the property. 


THE CREOLE ORPHAJSS. 


179 


To all Ormond’s offers to the good old Father Moi- 
dse, he gave a firm and steady yet gentle rejection, 
saying that he had, from his youth upward, devoted 
his life to the Church, and in her service would he die. 
Ue, however, agreed to accept some small present 
from him as a memorial of his gratitude. 

It was on the second day after Ormond had visited 
the Prefect that the agent of the Church called at the 
hotel, and received a warm welcome from Ormond. 
He advised him not to take the original papers away 
with him ; they were too precious to be risked to any 
casualty, but to deposit them among the records of 
the court, and only carry away copies of the whole. 
He eagerly acted upon this advice, and proceeded to 
put it in execution. There was one record, however, 
which he determined to carry away, and that was the 
record of his marriage ; and he accordingly called upon 
the Prefect, and preferred his request that he would 
unite Marie and himself according to the rules of the 
holy Church. Gladly, willingly, he consented to per- 
form the ceremony. 

The next evening a small party were gathered at 
the Prefect’s own chapel, and before the altar he joined 
the hands of those whose hearts had been so long 
united. 

It is needless to attempt to paint the extreme joy 
which swelled the heart of Marie, and the manly de- 
light of Ormond, as he drew toward him an ever- 
loved, but now a respected and cherished wife. Ijan- 
guage is inadequate for the expression of such feelings. 
Mrs. Grant participated in the joy of her friend, and 
wept upon her neck. The Doctor, as soon as they 
were free from the chapel, swore that the “ wild-goose 
chase” had now terminated beautifully ; and that al 


180 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


beit the cooking among the cannibals was not exactly 
to his taste, still he felt many times repaid for risking 
his precious neck in foreign parts. Altogether, it was 
a reunion of unalloyed felicity. 

A. week elapsed ere an opportunity presented itself 
for them to return to the United States ; but at length 
a brig was advertised to sail for Havana. Calling 
upon the Prefect, Ormond expressed in feeling terms 
his gratitude, and placing in his hands a sum for the 
benefit of his charities, received his blessing, and de- 
parted. 

Securing the precious package of papers in dupli- 
cate among his baggage, he, assisted by the doctor, 
transferred it to the brig. It was about sundown 
when the party left the land, and trusted themselves 
to the billowy deep. 

Upon arriving at Havana a vessel was easily found 
to convey them home. No incident occurred during 
the trip, except that Mrs. Grant became more unwell 
as they approached the shores of Louisiana; and as 
she lay in her berth, or reclined on deck, kindly at- 
tended by Marie with all a sister’s love, and sympa- 
thized with by the other passengers, her wasted cheek 
and shrunken form, combined with her general lan- 
guor, filled her husband’s heart with a fearful agony. 
He was at a loss what course to pursue ; he was con- 
fident that her lungs were diseased, and was fearful 
that the affection was too deeply rooted to be eradi- 
cated. This filled his breast with an indescribable 
emotion, and made his bold heart vibrate with sorrow. 
He tenderly loved her, and the thought of losing her 
was unendurable. He could not conceive the possi- 
bility of her being snatched away in the bloom of life 
and beauty ; then sighed as he noticed the brilliant 


I'HE dREOLE ORPItAl^S 

gpaik'e of her eyes, and her thin, attenuated hands ; 
and heard in the silent watches of the night that sharp 
and painful, that mournful cough, which sometimes 
convulsed her system. 

It was again evening; night covered with her lark 
m«intle the heaving sea, and the gleaming stars were 
stealing forth in beauty. All the passengers were 
gathered on deck. 

Et was midnight : Ormond and Marie were standing 
at the taftail, gazing back over the ocean, and then 
tK/owing their eyes forward. The Balize was in 
si^^ht. 

Dr. Grant was leaning over a seat, on which reclined 
his wife, and all were looking eagerly forward. 

What a thrill of joy shoots through the heart as the 
traveler, weary and sore, approaches his native land I 
What a joy pervades his frame as he longs to claim 
his heritage, and press the dear soil which gave him 
birth, to clasp loved friends to his breast, to mingle in 
old familiar scenes, and renew old and loved associa- 
tions ! 

Thus Ormond felt as he stood with one hand of his 
wife’s in his own, gazing steadfastly over the water; 
and when at last the light, that beacon of hope to the^ 
heart of the wave-tossed mariner, shot its trembling 
beams across the face of the restless sea, gleaming at 
first faintly, and then more strongly, and at last show- 
ing bright, steady, and clear, a general shout of glad- 
ness arose from all around. 

‘‘My dear Marie,” he said, drawing her closer, 
“ there is our own dear land, our home, greeting us 
with its welcome smile.” 

She replied by a gentle pressure of his hand, and a 
tear of happiness. 


182 THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 

Oh ! how justly proud is an American ! He may 
visit the shores of the Old World, hoary and venerable, 
renowned for the ashes of the past, its heroes, its ora- 
tors, and its statesmen ; he may mingle in its scenes 
of splendor, its pageants, and its pomps ; he may 
tread the classic shores of Greece, and dream among 
the monuments of departed ages ; he may wander 
among the islands of the Mediterranean, or be sur- 
rounded with the luxuries of an Oriental court ; he 
may tread the sands of Palestine, and visit the scenes 
sacred to Christianity ; he may recline among the olive 
groves of Italy, and under its bright skies drink in its 
intoxicating inspiration ; he may stand at the base of 
the Pyramids, or wander among the ruins of the 
Acropolis ; he may be shaded in a bower of love, 
among spicy islands, where every breath is a perfume, 
and every sigh an exhalation of pleasure ; where the 
rose blooms always, and the song of the nightingale 
is ever heard ; where violet-colored dreams greet his 
slumber, and every thought is bliss ; but still he 
fondly clings to the memory of home — he still sighs 
for the proud mountain oak, and the clear, gushing 
spring, where the trout leaps in gladness, and the 
pure mountain breeze, as it plays in the tree-tops, 
whispers of ‘‘ Freedom.” He still sighs for that holy 
land of liberty, where every man is a prince, and 
which is shadowed by the wing of God. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


“ Tentanda via est.” 


nrE will now return to Mr. Talbot, whom we left 
conducting the espitolary business of Colonel 
Ormond, ,and arranging in his own mind matters to 
suit himself. Things had not at all changed in any 
respect, save the advance of the season. The rolling 
time was over, and the levee was crowded with the 
sweets of a year of labor. 

Talbot had made some new acquaintances ; he had 
hunted, and fished, and rode, attended parties, and in 
all respects enjoyed himself ; but he still nourished 
in his own heart those evil passions which make man’s 
nature akin to the fiend. 

He had never heard from Stamps, and felt anxious 
to receive a letter from him ; for he had formed the 
acquaintance of a feeless lawyer, who, pn ascertaining 
hat he was the relation of Colonel Ormond, tried to 
ailtiv^ate his friendship, in the hope that “ something 
would turn up for he learned the circumstances of 
Ormond’s life; and he had plained a hope in the 
bosom of Talbot which haunted his pillow nightly 
after. 

One evening, as he was sitting in the gallery, tired, 
and covered with dust from a long ride, old Pierre 


184 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


came up the road, and gave him a letter from the post 
office. 

He glanced at the direction, and hastily put it in 
his pocket. He knew the hand : it was from his boy- 
hood^s friend — ^the tool he intended to use. It was 
from Stamps. 

As soon as Pierre had gone, with his chatter and 
his offensive familiarity, he stole to his chamber, and 
then, locking the door, hastily tore open the letter. It 
ran thus : 


“ New York, January 3, 18 — . 

‘‘ My dear Tolly — 

“You can not imagine the delight the reception 
ot your letter gave me. I had gone to the post-office 
many times, and, after being often disappointed, yours 
was put into my hands. I devoured its contents. You 
are a lucky fellow. Tolly ; and I am afraid your letter 
has run me crazy. It has made me very absent lately, 
and I do a great many things to be laughed at. The 
first day after I got it, I thought of nothing else. Old 
Mrs. Snap, our landlady, who has not improved in 
disposition since you left, asked me, 

“ ‘ Will you have coffee or tea, sir?’ 

“ I was thinking of you, and the pretty Southern 
girls, and says I, ‘ Oreole^ if yo*u please, ma’am.’ 

“ ^ Creole, sir?’ says she, as sharp as a broken vine- 
gar-bottle. ‘ What do you mean by talking about them 
niggers here ?’ • 

“ I blushed up, and was scared to death ; but I got 
off by making an excuse. 

“ But now I have got to tell you some thing worse 
than that. Tolly, I have lost my place. The way ot 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


186 


it was this : — The other evening, as I was carrying a 
bundle around to a customer, I noticed on a theater- 
bill, in the biggest kind of letters, a play for that 
night, called, ‘The Yankee in India ; or, The Way to 
make a Fortune.’ The title struck me, and I deter- 
mined to see it. I went into the pit, and it was first 
rate. But the next day old Hunks heard of it ; so he 
called me up and gave me a lecture. I thought of you 
and your freedom, and, as he said a lot of hard things, T 
just politely told him to go to blue ruin, and that I could 
do very well without him. I told him you had gone 
to Louisiana, and had a big sugar plantation, and lots 
of niggers ; and that I would go and see you. He 
looked astonished ; but then he called me an imper- 
tinent beggar, and ordered the book-keeper to make 
out my account, and pay me off. I felt like whipping 
him, but left without saying much. 

“ And this, Tolly, is the way I lost it. Maybe I was 
a fool, and maybe I was n’t. I have got some money, 
but not more than enough to support me till I get a 
situation. Tolly, now, my old boy I fly around, and 
try and look for a place for me by the time I get 
there, for I am coming, sure. I have not fixed the 
time yet, but expect to get a little more money soon, 
and then I will be with you. 

“ I remain, your friend, as ever, 

“ W. Stamps.*^ 

‘‘ Senseless fool 1” exclaimed Talbot, when he had 
finished reading it. ‘‘ To act in this manner ; to throw 
away a certainty for an uncertainty I but I think, may 
be I may have a use for him, though I fear he will be 
a dead weight on me : and I want to ride light when 


188 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


I do begin the race. ’And so I may expect him daily? 
Well, I wish Ormond would come. He must like to 
spend m'^mey on his lady. Ha, ha ! But he can af- 
ford it.’' 

Her.* he heaved a deep sigh, and slowly left the 

ItXVGi 


I 


CHAPTER XVII. 


AN a calm and pleasant evening, a party consisting 
^ of Ormond and Marie, Dr. Grant and his wife, 
stood upon the guards of a steamer as she was nearing 
the old homestead. There were the old house with its 
ancient pointed roof, and its wide galleries, the live 
oak-trees waving their gnarled branches in the air as 
if in welcome, and the tall chimne3^s of the sugar- 
house in the distance. There were the dark green of 
the orange, and the still darker hue of the well-trimmed 
evergreens in the lawn. The little birds too, seemed 
to trill forth their happiest notes to bid a welcome 
home. Oh, how dear seemed every thing around to 
Marie now, as she gazed delightedly upon this scene ! 
How different from her former moods I She was now 
a loved wife, an equal ; and the dark brand of slavery 
was removed forever ; and as she looked at Ormond 
whose bosom swelled with pride as he ^cast his gaze 
on her, she felt that her cup of happiness was com- 
plete, and that a life-time of worship could never com- 
pensate for his kindness to her. 

As the negroes came crowding up, oveijoyed, her 
heart beat faster, and seemed to expand into a second 
being within her, and she returned their greetings as 
kindly as they were given. 

Slie entered her well-remembered chamber, and 


188 THE CREOLE ORPHAlTS. 

there — oh, joy ! she found on her boudoir-table several 
letters. Ah I they were ship-letters! and one from 
Madame Civalle. And there was one in Zoe’s sweet 
little hand. Eagerly she tore them open, and drank 
in with all a mother’s fond love the happy intelligence 
that all were well ; the feeling of the soul poured out 
in all the pure simplicity of childhood, the sea, its 
wonders, the strange sights and sounds, all found a 
place. They were written at sea, and sent home by a 
return packet. How she wept and smiled, and wept 
and kissed again and again those dear lines which 
those sweet fingers had penned. Ormond joined in 
her pleasure, and their kind friends. There was one 
thing which detracted from their pleasure : it was this. 
Upon Marie’s table was found another letter : it was 
from Herndon, who had been compelled a few days 
before their arrival to leave for the North on business 
of great importance. It was connected with a large 
amount of bank-stock which he owned in New Y ork ; 
and to save himself he had been forced to go on this 
journey. In the letter he fixed no date for his return, 
and they were thus left in the dark in regard to his 
movements. 

The next morning their kind friend^ prepared to 
depart. The separation between Marie and Mrs. 
Grant was affecting ; they clung to each other as sis- 
ters . near and dear, wept and promised to meet 
again. 

Talbot had remained away all night, and now came 
forward surprised and confused. He seemed, however, 
to be overjoyed to meet his host; but Marie at the 
sight of his cold, snake-like glance, felt a return of 
ihose old feelings of aversion and mistrust steal over 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


189 


her ; but when she remembered how firmly she was 
united to Ormond, and that she was now beyond the 
reach of any contingency, she tried to banish all those 
feelings, and reniembered the prophecy of old Celeste 
only as an idle dream. 

Talbot placed in his patron’s hands all the corre- 
Bpondence which had arrived during his absence. He 
now informed him of his desire to take charge of the 
situatu n secured by him. Ormond agreed to it, kind- 
ly supplied him with letters to his friends, and a sum 
of money. He departed, and in the course of a week 
a letter from him informed them that he had entered 
the house, and was settled, at the same time thanking 
them for their kindness and hospitality. 

Thus we leave our characters at this period. The 
family of Colonel Ormond resided now wholly at the 
plantation. At Marie’s desire the residence in the city 
was broken up, and the property offered for sale. He 
contracted his business, and devoted himself wholly to 
the improvement of his estate, and contributing to the 
happiness of his slaves. Marie was received in the 
neighborhood as an equal, although it was not known 
even that she was wedded ; but the example of Mrs. 
Grant was speedily followed, and she was a welcome 
guest every where. So much for breaking down the 
barriers of custom. This notice of her by Mrs. Grant 
created a revulsion in her favor, and courtesies were 
showered on her on every side. It was not surmised 
that the journey the party had taken was other than 
for the benefit of the health of Mrs. Grant. Ormom 
had never mentioned the matter to any one, not eve& 
to Talbot, and the public were as ignorant of it as 
ever. Mrs. Grant’s health now so sensibly declined, 


190 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


that by the best medical advices Dr. Grant concluded to 
try the restorative influence of the air of Italy upon her 
enervated frame, but with an almost hopeless view of 
the case. She had become much wea.ker; the bloom 
on her che^eks was the hot flush of fever, and the 
brilliancy of her eyes was the sparkle of disease. He 
sailed immediately. 

Letters were received from Zoe and Estelle. They 
were much pleased with their situation, but longed 
again to be fondly pressed to their mother’s breast, to 
share their father’s joy, and be safely sheltered in the 
circle of domestic love. They longed again to hear 
the gentle evening breeze rustling the leaves of the 
orange boughs, and to repall those delightful moments 
now remembered as the fleeting dreams of love and 
youth. 

Marie felt lonely and sad when Ormond was absent ; 
she sat by the solitary hearth and wept as she thought 
of her bright-eyed ones so far away from home, and 
the shadow of departed hours hung gloomily over her 
soul. 


Come home I — There is a sorrowing breath 
In music since ye went, 

And the early flower-scents wander by 
With mournful memories blent ; 

The tones in every household voice 
Are grown more sad and deep, 

And sweet words wake a wish 
To turn aside and weep.” 

Although Ormond had married the mother of hi? 
children, there was one act still to be performed : il 
was to legitimate his children ; and for this purpose he 
went to New Orleans. His friend Mr. Bland was at 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


191 


home, and to him ke applied. He accomplished his 
wishes to his satisfaction, but strange to say, neglected 
to mention a word to him of his actions in the island 
of Martinique. 

He returned home, feeling now that he had forever 
eecured the safety of his children, should he be called 

I way. 


CHAPTER xyin. 


Deftth I thou hast had thy harvest 1 
« ♦ « « « 

We can but mourn— for thou hast gathered i* 
The brightest and most beautiful 

GALLAQIAik 


OEVTJRAL months passed, utid the buds of spring 
^ had given way to the flo\yers of summer, with its 
balmy air, and birds, and sunshine. 

It was with feelings of the deepest grief that letters 
were received from Dr. Grant, announcing the slow, 
but sure decline of his wife. Sometimes they would 
come to Ormond, and frequently to Herndon, whose 
overseer would at once, on seeing a foreign post-mark, 
send them over to Ormond. Dr. Grant was in Flo- 
rence, with a soul bowed down with grief.' He saw 
that the disease was too deeply rooted to be eradicated 
— it was beyond the leech’s art, and laughed at the 
impotent attempts of medicine to conquei^ it. He 
remained by her side, cheering her by his devoted 
love and assiduous attention, and anticipating her 
slightest wish. But he could not save her — she was 
sinking. The pearly luster of her eye, her restless 
nights and days of pain, the death-like cough and 
transparent hand, too surely told that the fair brow 
would soon be bathed in the dews of death ; that thos^i 


T JT E CREOLE ORPHANS. 


193 


bright orbs would soon be closed in dissolution ; that 
tongue, now uttering tones of melody, woh.ld bo 
palsied; and that once damask cheek and lovely form 
be resolved into the dust from whence it came. 

He strove to cheer her drooping spirits, and to instill 
into her soul the hope of a future happiness. He 
knew her goodness, and had no fear for her when she 
came into the spirit-land. But he strove to smooth 
her passage to the grave. He had at first tried to 
hope ; but now his deep professional knowledge told 
him that she had been marked ; that a great and fear- 
ful change would soon take place, and that he must 
hope no more. Still he traveled. He visited the 
“Holy City;’’ then wended his way to Naples, to 
Venice, to Messalina, to Greece. But the blue skies 
of Italy, bright as an angel’s dream ; the breath of the 
orange-gToves of Sicily ; nor the flowery fields of the 
Ionian Isles, could save the withering blossoms of 
beauty. Like a rare exotic transplanted to a colder 
clime, it faded, and withered, and died. 

“ Poor, poor fellow !” feelingly exclaimed Ormond, 
as he read one of Grant’s desponding letters, and the 
great tears stood in his eyes ; “ he is unhappy ; he is 
far, far away from loved friends and home ; heartlesa 
strangers surround him ; he is buried in sorrow, and 
oh, poor Caroline !” Here he clinched his hands in 
a convulsive manner, then raising his eyes to Heaven, 
fervently said—' 

“ Oh, God ! if it be possible — if it be thy will — let 
this bitter cup be spared him !” 

'^It was on a calm Sabbath morning that Ormond sat 
m the gallery ; it was peaceful and serene, not a cloud 
floated across the blue fields of heaven ; the air came 
13 


194 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


softly to the cheek, and all was at rest. His though ts 
were with his friend, in that far off clime; and his 
prayers were for the idolized Caroline. Suddenly his 
attention was drawn to the sound of horse’s feet — ho 
looked up — it was Herndon’s overseer riding towara 
the house. An ill-defined feeling of alarm and dis- 
quiet pervaded his breast — he felt that he was the 
bearer of bad news. He entered the gallery ; gloom 
was upon his brow, and sadness in his eye. Ormond 
now felt, as he pointed to a seat, that his prophetic heart 
was right. There was a terrible something to be 
divulged, and he shrunk from meeting the sorrowful 
truth. The overseer handed him a letter — it was 
sealed with black. As he held it out to Ormond, he 
shrunk back; a strange feeling of horror thrilled 
through his veins ; it w^as like a dreadful night-mare ; 
he could not shake it off. It possessed a strange fasci 
nation — that death-sealed letter ; but he took it ; he 
broke the seal. It is all over 1” he exclaimed in feel- 
ing accents, and uttering a deep groan, pressed his 
hands to his eyes, then slowly read it through with a 
sad interest. Here it is : 


“ Genoa, Juue 14, 18 . 

“ Dear Herndon, 

You can not conceive with what feeling I now 
sit down to write you. The last sad blow has been 
struck, and my Caroline is lost forever to me. Oh, 
my friend! if you knew my sufferings. Sad and 
desolate^ with not a friend 1 alone ! Oh, Herndon I 
may you never know the full meaning of that worcL 
The misery of a lifetime has been concentrated in a 
few days. 


THE CREOLE ORPHA^iJ'S. 


196 


“ On Thursday night, about eleven o’clock, Caroline, 
who had been gradually declining, seemed more lively 
than had been her wont; and I had lain down to 
snatch a moment’s repose before an open window. I 
was dreaming of home and happiness. Oh, cruel 
vision Suddenly I was awakened by the sound of 
the rustle of the curtain of her bed, my senses being, by 
continual anxiety and watching, preternaturally acute ; 
I hastily arose ; the light had burned out ; I called, 
there was no answer I Alarmed, I lit the lamp. I 
rushed to the bed, reproaching myself for my selfish- 
ness, while she might be suffering. But, oh, Heaven I 
how shall I describe my horror!! She had raised 
herself, and her head was hanging over the edge of 
the bed, with her long dark hair in tangled masses 
reaching the floor, and soaked with blood ! She was in 
the agonies of death. She had been seized with a fit 
of coughing, an artery had been ruptured, and her 
white clothes and pillow were covered with bright blood. 
How I survived that shock I know not. I raised her 
up. She smiled faintly — her dying eyes brightened — 
her lips tried to pronounce my name; and her last 
pure sigh was wafted to its native Heaven. I — 

But I shall go mad ! I laid her in the ground — 1 
can not weep ! I care not for life ! Oh, for you ! for 
Ormond and his gentle wife to be with me ! 

I leave here to-morrow, for I know not where; 
but I will roam the world — ^it is now a vast sepulcher 
to me. I will seek the desert, and my cry will answer 
the howl of the hyena. I know not when you will 
see me, but if I survive this shock I will meet you 
again. 

“ There is a lock of hair. I send it at the request of 


196 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


my lost Caroline, to Marie ! Tell her that her pool 
friend sleeps in a citron-grove, where the air is balmy^ 
but the tear of friendship does not water her resting- 
place. 

“ Your unhappy friend, 

“ Grant.” 

The tears chased each other down the cheeks of 
Ormond as he read this record of grief. He graspeo 
the lock of dark hair contained in the letter, and left, 
the gallery to seek Marie, and mingle his grief with her’s. 

It was a Sabbath day in New Orleans; the bells 
rung out the holy invitation for all to enter the house 
of God. Multitudes passed along the street ; the mer- 
chant, wending his way to the more frequented parts 
of the city, to learn the news; the clerks, to dispose 
of a day of relaxation from business. Here was the 
stranger from the North, with his fine, fresh counte- 
nance ; and there the Southern gentleman, returning 
home from abroad. Here plodded a stolid old Dutch- 
man, on his way to mass; and immediately behind 
tripped the smart Irish servant girl, bound on the 
same errand. On the other side of the street you see 
a young Hibernian, who, just promoted to a new dray 
and horse, comes out in all the glory of stove-pipe 
hat and blue cloth, and is throw ng the most exquisite 
glances toward the aforesaid servant-girl from his 
pea-green eyes. Here is a Creole of Jerusalem^ who is 
making mental calculations of what his stock of second- 
hand goods bought the day previous at auction will 
bring; and behind him is a Christian, whose thoughts 
are, for this day at least, not upon things of this 
world. 


THE CHEOiiE ORPHANS. 


197 


There are many other parties we might point out: 
the fast cotton planter, who having just got through 
the hottora dollar of his crop, and the last one his mer- 
chant would bleed, is now about to leave on the Sun- 
day packet for the coast and the little towns above ; 
but he is happy, for he has already got acceptances 
enough to more than cover his next crop. Oh, rare 
economy ! There is a sugar-planter, who has just 
paid his bill at the hotel ; he is going up on the same 
boat. He is now on his way to the livery stable, to 
order shipped a pair of fast ponies he purchased the 
day before; but he is also happy, for his plantation is 
well jDrotected, being covered a foot deep with mort- 
gages. Among this crowd might be observed, engaged 
in earnest conversation as they slowly walked along, 
two young men. One is our acquaintance Talbot, 
and the other, by his gaze of curiosity around, seemed 
to be a stranger. He was of a heavy -built form, with 
dark hair, and seemed to have a not unhandsome 
countenance, as he laughed and smiled, and appeared 
to be highly pleased. 

Talbot was acting as conductor to his friend. He 
has determined to launch out that day, and impress 
Stamps (for it was he) with an idea of his importance, 
and to treat him to a dinner at a fashionable restau- 
rant. A word here about Talbot, however. Upon 
his arrival in New Orleans, he was well received, 
through the influence of the letters of Colonel Ormond, 
and entered upon his duties in the house. Here ho 
had remained ever since. He had not risen in rank 
or salary. He was secretly disliked, although no 
charge could be brought against him, and was thought 
to be a coward, in consequence of his refusing to ac 


198 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


cept a cteillenge sent by a fellow-clerk for an alleged 
insult: be preferred making an apology. He was 
never fully trusted. It was about this time^bat be 
succeeded in obtaining for Stamps a situation in an- 
other bouse upon bis arrival. Stamps bad reaidied 
New Orleans tbe evening before, and lost no time in 
calling upon bis friend, with whose address be had 
been previously furnished. And now we find them 
on this day resuming their habits of former days. 

“Well, Stamps,” observed Talbot, “we are at last 
again together, and in the South.” 

“Yes, Tolly, my boy !” replied he ; “here we are; 
and I am as delighted as a dog with two tails to be 
with you. I have longed and sighed for this time 
again and again.” 

“Well, Billy, I think we will make something out 
of it yet. I only wish I could take you right away to 
Ormond’s plantation ; it would be a great deal easier 
than clerking, and I never did and never will like it, 
and this thing of being hired to go and come, like a 
‘ fetch-and-carry’ spaniel. Billy, when I see the lordly 
planters come into our office, smoking their fine cigars, 
and see them strut about and call for their supplies, 
and get a big check on the bank to go and frolic on ; 
and when I see the airs of arrogance they assume, I 
hate the race, and wish I had never been brought into 
contact with them; it recalls my own situation too 
forcibly. But, heigho! Billy, I know you are not 
afraid of the devil, and you know that no one can 
match me plotting.” 

“ I know that. Tolly ; and I always thought you 
were cut out for a great man.” 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


199 


“ Thank you, Billy. If I do, you shall share the 
glory ; for you will assist me to raise our fortunes.” 

“ All you have got to do is to tell me what to do. 
Tolly, and if it is to pull the old un’s horns off, I will 
try. I will do anything for you.” 

“ And I for you, Billy. I am not as scary as I used 
to be ; I have fought a duel since I have been here.” 

“ The devil you have, Tolly !” exclaimed the grati- 
fied fellow, gazing at him in admiration. “ Hurrah 
for you ! The fact is, that is the only objection I ever 
had to you. I thought you were not as brave as two 
men ought to be.” 

“ Oh, pshaw I that was policy, Billy — policy, sir.” 

“Well have you got up any scheme. Tolly, by 
which we can make a raise ?” 

“ Yes, I have a golden idea ; but it is too new yet, 
and I must bide my time. I must have patience 
and perseverence.” 

“Yes, for the Bible says, ‘Patience and soft soap 
will thread a cambric needle with a cable.” 

“ That’s a wrong quotation, Billy.” 

“ Is it? Well I do not know, I have not read the 
Bible through very often. But what is the specula- 
tion that promises so much ?” 

“ I will make a quotation, Billy. ‘ The right hand 
should never know what the left doeth.’ And it is 
not worth while to say any thing about it until the 
time comes, for come it will some of these days.” 

“ Well, I suppose you know. Tolly ; and you know 
when it is time to strike I’m on hand.” 

“Yes, Billy, my friend,” replied he, turning and 
grasping Stamps by the hand. “ And to show you 
that I have confidence in you, I will say that at the 


20O THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 

death of a relation, with a little figuring, I will cAjme 
into possession of a fine sugar-plantation and a mint 
of niggers.” 

“ Oh ! don’t I wish the time would come. Lord, 1 
would lay in bed till ten o’clock every day, and I 
would have a nigger to even pull my eyes open, ilut 
I thought you used to be the strongest kind of an 
abolitionist?” 

Yes, so I was; but it was fashionable. That was 
policy also. 1 am a slavery man now.” 

“ There is one thing certain, Tolly, and that is that 
I would like mightily to own some of them.” 

“ They are very convenient, Billy, I assure you ; 
and this speculation of mine, provided every thing re- 
mains as it does now, will embrace a large number.” 

I wish it was time to go into it now.” 

“ Never mind, the fruit will get ripe and fall of its 
own accord in time.” 

In such conversations as these, and an occasional 
reference to old times, the two reunited friends whiled 
away the morning. Down by the State-house and 
Hospital to the Catholic cemetery, and into the 
French portion of the city to the Place d’Armes, they 
turned and finally brought up at ' the door of a cele- 
brated restaurant. 

Soon they were seated at its plenteous board, and 
the heart and purse of Talbot opened generously. A 
splendid dinner, with fine wines, cheered the palate of 
Stamps, who was not habituated to discuss and pro- 
nounce upon the gastronomic wonders placed before 
him. 

That night Stamps was introduced into the theatre, 
to his great delight 


a'lii: CREOLE ORl>HAi^s. 20\ 

The situation of clerk was still open in the house 
and Stamps entered it. The salary was small, but suf- 
ficient for his wants ; and he might have been happy 
and contented, had it not been for his wily friend, 
who was tutoring him for his own use. 

It will be remembered that a sister of Talbot’s had 
been betrayed, and decoyed away from her home, 
while he was a youth. He had heard by a friend in 
New York that his sister was in New Orleans, and 
was pursuing a course of infamy. He had inquired, 
and found no clew to her. 


CHAPTER XIX, 


** With her white hands folded gently. 
Upon her pulseless breast. 

And a snowy shroud around her. 

We laid her Ihere to rest/* 


TT is hard to leave the scenes of love and friendship, 
and even the records of uninteresting events, 
where there are some soft, soothing and refined pass- 
ages in life ; but it is more terrible still to pass to 
scenes of death, where agony is triumphant, to watch 
the ebbing pulse, the heaving bosom, and glazing eye. 

Upon the receipt of the intelligence of the death of 
poor Mrs. Grant, the grief of Marie was overwhelm- 
ing. For many days she refused to be comforted. 
Ormond begged and pleaded with her, to moderate 
her grief, to calm her emotions. He proposed to her 
a short trip of pleasure; to which she assented, as it 
was his wish. He thought a change of scene might 
obliterate the images of sadness with which her heart 
was peopled, or or at least moderate the intensity of 
thought, and recall to her cheeks a portion of that 
bloom they once wore and the smile to her lips. They 
accordingly set out. He exhausted the rounds of pleas- 
ure for her. From place to place they fled, leaving 
thought behind them ; and, later in the season, he had 
the pleasure of seeing her recover a portion of that 


THE CHEOLE ORPHANS. 203 

clieerfulness she once possessed, and then they bent 
their steps toward home. 

The pestilence was abroad in its fury ; the city was 
in mourning. Many of the wisest and best of the 
land had been taken off in their prime. Consterna- 
tion and horror prevailed. Hundreds of those who 
were in health, and had fondly dreamed that they 
were spared, the next sunset saw shrouded ; and still 
it called for its hecaiiombs of victims. Medical science 
stood appalled and aghast at its own impotency, and 
that of the most powerful drugs, to combat the fearful 
disease ; and the victim was shut out from the aid and 
sympathy of his fellow-men. There were then no be- 
nevolent institutions, formed to relieve and succor the 
destitute sick, and perform ]bhe last sad offices for the 
stranger. The dead-cart alone rumbled along the 
streets, the death-bell came booming sullenly and sol- 
emnly, and mingled with the melancholy cry of 
“ Bring out your dead !’’ and seemed like the knell 
of despair, as it was rung through the midnight streets, 
creating horror and agony in those who had thus far 
escaped. All who could go, were gone; and those 
who remained, staid behind to battle with disease and 
death. The grave-digger could not perform his office 
fast enough ; and gold was showered liberally among 
the hardy laborers, to induce them to remain, and 
cover the bloated and putrefying corpses that came 
pouring in. 

At such a time as this, Ormond and Marie arrived 
in New Orleans, on their return home ; and Marie was 
attacked with the fever. In the airy chamber of a 
large hotel, sat the faithful Ormond, by the bedside oi 
the fever-strieken patient. It was the seventh day 


204 


THE CREOLE ORRHAKS. 


from th3 first attack ; and the case was unnsnallj se- 
vere, and singularly protracted. Around her couch 
were tearful attendants, who stood and gazed with 
pity on her shrunken features and throbbing breast. 
Ormond sat and held the hands of the sufferer, and 
looked in intense anguish on her form. Every pang 
she seemed to feel inflicted an intense one on him. 
Haggard and unshaven, with eyes bloodshot from 
long-continued vigils and burning like coals of fire, 
he was dead to the external world. He lived but in 
her, and was deaf but to her anguish 

For three days had she spoken no word. All that 
science and skill could accomplish was done ; and, al- 
though her physicians remained constantly with her, 
the case was left in the hands of God. 

Her medical friend sat by her, watch in hand, 
counting the fleeting moments ; and then, signing to 
the nurse, moistened the parched lips of the patient 
with some liquid. Since she had become insensible, 
she had never spoken, but lay in a kind of stupor, 
exhibiting no signs of life other than the heavy 
breathing and uneasy murmurs. The fever had 
wrought a fearful change on that once polished and 
rounded form ; and the pale cheeks and sunken eyes 
were hollowed by disease. But, there Ormond sat, 
heeding naught on earth save the deep pulsations of 
her heart, and the moans of anguish which ever md 
anon burst from her tortured bosom. There lay the 
idol of his affections, who, racked by pain and disease, 
lay dying. Oh ! how tortured was his soul, and how 
deep was his grief, as he looked upon her, pressed her 
hand, and whispered hoarsely, “ Marie ! Marie 1” But 
she saw him not, she heard him not, she knew not 


THE CBEOLE ORPHANS. 


205 


that his heart throbbed with convulsive emotion, and 
that the deep sighs which came sobbingly forth, indi- 
cated a breaking heart. Oh ! his generous soul was filled 
with a deep and dreadful agony, and great drops of 
sweat ran down his forehead. His hand was pressed 
to his burning eyes, which had not been closed in 
slumber for so many days of misery. But he, the 
devoted, the high-hearted Ormond — he heeded not 
sleepless nights and days of suffering ; he tired not 
of prayers uttered, deep and fervent, at the midnight 
hour. No ; he remained by the couch, lost to every 
thing save her. 

It was only by the presence of the physician, and 
the gentle pressure of his hand on his arm, that he 
was aroused. He cast his eyes wildly around him. 

Doctor,” he asked, with an almost maniac glare, “ is 
there any hope ?” 

Slowly and sadly the doctor shook his head ; and, as 
he looked upon the form of the sufferer, a tear rolled 
down his cheek. 

Marie stirred, and moaned ; she opened her eyes, 
and looked about her as if in surprise, then a look of 
intelligence passed over her countenance, as she real- 
ized her situation. Her eyes met those of Ormond’s, 
who was tenderly bending over her; a faint flush 
overspread her cheeks, and a sparkle of recognition 
appeared. Charles,” she faintly whispered ; but al- 
though he bent his ear over her pillow, and intently 
listened, she was silent. Tremblingly she raised her 
thin and feeble hand ; and seemed to be groping like a 
person in darkness. Ormond took it in his, and ten- 
derly pressed it ; she smiled slightly, and it was stiU. 
Like a bird seeking its nest, it had found it, and waa 


206 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS.. 


content. As liis eyes were fixed on ter, a convulsive 
rbudder passed over her system. 

^‘Doctor! doctor!” exclaimed he madly, half- 
arising. 

The physician placed his hand upon her wrist, he rais- 
ed the drooping eyelids, and then took Ormond by the 
hand to lead him away ; but he shook off his hand im- 
patiently, and creeping closer, leaned over, and, in a 
voice choked by emotion, cried, 

“ Marie 1 Marie ! Oh leave me not yet ; remember 
our children, our friends ; oh 1 stay yet awhile ! Oh 1 
God, is this justice? is this thy divine love? spare her, 
oh God and he threw himself on his knees by the 
couch. She moaned — the destroyer had come — he 
started — a change had passed over her — a spasmodic 
tremor agitated her system, a slight murmur, another 
sigh, and, with the softness of the summer’s wind, her 
spirit passed away, and all was peace. Ormond gazed 
wildly at her a moment in silence ; and then with a 
deep groan sunk senseless to the floor. 

' A massive slab of marble bearing the simple word 
“ Marie,” marked the place where was laid the once 
peerless and pure. 

“ She was a cherished treasure, too good, too pure for earth ; 

And she left us in her beauty, her innocence and mirth ; 

So we laid her in the grave-yard where the willow branches wave, 
With the cold earth for her pillow in the dark and silent grave.” 


Ii was many days ere Ormond was able to sit up, 
even in an invalid’s chair. Ilis medical friend attend- 
ed him with all the kindness of a brother ; he strove 
to cheer him. With an all-abiding faith in the mercy 
of his Heavenl}^ Father, he strove to direct his 1 ho lights 


THE CKEOLE OEPHANS. 207 

t() that better world, to teach him resignation, and 
submission to his wise decrees. “ When all other sup- 
ports,” he exclaimed with Christian mildness, ‘^are 
thrown down, and worldly comfort has departed, then, 
my friend, the solace which the beliefin^^s divine 
goodness gives, is beyond expression. You have been 
chastened by the hand of a friend. Pour out your 
soul in confidence to Him, have faith in His powci to 
give comfort to a wounded soul. Human philosophy 
is here of little use ; depend on Him who alone can 
dry your tears, and give relief. We know that our 
Redeemer liveth, that a few short years, and we shall 
all be called ; we shall join our friends in that land of 
light, and love, where sorrow never comes, and hap- 
piness is endless and complete.” Such was the exhort- 
ation of the good and Christian physician to the do 
sponding Ormond. 

When he had recovered sufiiciently, he returned 
home, but it was months, before he was again able to ride 
about and give his attention to business. He felt that 
the death of Marie was such a stroke on him that he 
never would entirely survive it. He roamed about the 
house, and plantation ; and pleasure seemed to be for- 
ever dead within him. Every object he saw was 
some reminder of the loved and lost, and opened 
again the fountain. He did not indulge a childish 
unmanly grief ; his was a true, a noble, a dignified 
and non-complaining sorrow. He thought of her in 
the days of her youth, brightening every place with 
her presence of the thousand endearing words, and 
her kind actions, of her every look and expression, 
and of every circumstance connected witli her. Ah ) 
how often he sat in that old gallery, and let his imag 


208 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


ination wander back to scenes long past and gone 1 
How often would he enter the door of the chamber, 
while memory would almost cheat him into the belief, 
that he again heard that bird-like voice warbling joy- 
oufilj*^ or her light footstep hastening to meet him as 
he approached. There by that window, where the 
sunlight quivers and struggles to find an entrance 
amid the jasmin clustering around it, was her 
favorite seat, the tendrils extending inward, as if striv- 
ing to meet her and be near her ; and there was her 
accustomed chair, with her little work table, and its 
pearl ornaments — the many little articles of use and 
decoration, which only female taste can appreciate. 
There was her favorite volume, exactly as she had left 
it ; and there her last work, rolled up, neatly folded, and 
laid away, just as it was placed by her fair hands before 
her last journey with Ormond. Here are her toilet 
articles, and in that armoire hang the many dresses, 
which so often clasped that sylph-like form. There 
were the memorials, which caused the tears to gush 
like an overcharged fountain. There were the memo- 
rials, of one who had gone, and left no stain on earth. 
He would at eventide steal off into the garden, and 
there under the old oaks, where the happy family cir 
cle had so often been gathered, when the night dew 
began to fall, and the whippo-wil’s melancholy note 
be heard, there the black hour would come upon him, 
and those bitter, bitter moments would end in tears — 
those bitter moments which nothing can soothe, noth- 
ing can sweeten. Then would he pray, that he too 
might be called, that his pilgrimage be ended. 

It must not be imagined, that Ormond was neglect- 
ful, far from it ; his friends often came to visit him. 


THE CEEOLE ORPHAN^S. 


209 


and tried by every means in their power, to draw him 
away from the melancholy to which he seemed so 
wedded. He would receive their advances kindly and 
faintly smile to please them, but his grief was beyond 
the reach of solace. He often longed to say to them, 
that it was not a mistress he mourned, but a wife ; his 
heart boiled at the thought of any aspersion being cast 
upon the memory of Marie ; yet, when he had made 
up his mind to speak, the words would seem to choke 
him, it appeared so unnatural to have to defend her — 
the loved one. 

He had never written to Zoe and Estelle, since the 
death of their mother ; and now he set himself to the 
sad task. He had not before written to them at all, for 
Marie relieved him of that. She had promised to write 
to them in regard to their visit to Martinique, yet it had 
been deferred until it was never executed. Herndon 
was singularly silent ; indeed he did not even know 
his address. At one time Ormond determined to 
arouse himself from his lethargy, to throw off the in- 
cubus which bound him. He concluded to go to the 
North. He often wished for Grant, and even formed 
the determination of going to Paris, and thence to 
Italy. In this plan Dr. Grant’s father in-law eagerl}> 
acquiesced, as he felt assured the change would do 
more than any thing else, to enable him to throw ofi 
this morbid grief. He even wrote to Zoe, informing 
hei of his expectation. But still he hesitated, and, as 
the season advanced, he gave it up. His energj^^ of 
character was gone, and he settled down into a droop- 
ing, listless state of melancholy. He .eemed never 
more satisfied, than when several of his friends were 
with him, and in eager conversation among themselves 
U 


210 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


he would sit buried in his own reveries, absorbed, un- 
heeding, and lost to every thing. He at length wrote 
for Talbot, who had left New Orleans when the yellow 
fever was at its height, but returned at its subsidence 
He obeyed the summons quickly, and when ne alight 
ed at the steps, was met by Ormond with a melancholy 
smile and a courteous welcome. This appearance of 
sincere sorrow and deep feeling even affected Talbot, 
and he was for once touched by the dignified and 
patient grief exhibited by his noble kinsman. He was 
inexpressibly shocked at the great change which had 
been wrought in his handsome features, and while he 
gazed, a secret thrill of emotion, a species of electric 
exultation, such as a fiend might feel while he listened 
to the scream of agony of his victim, found a place 
in his' bosom. Secretly he thought of Ormond’s 
death, and hugged himself with the idea, the pos- 
sibility of being the nearest collateral heir, as the read- 
er is aware that he was ignorant of the action which 
had been taken in regard to the wife and children. So 
he secretly nursed those feelings of ambition and av- 
arice, and dreamed on. 

Time flew and Ormond w£ls evidently sinking; his 
friends observed it, and sorrow was in their breasts, as 
they saw his noble form bowed down by grief, and 
looked upon his wasted cheek. Talbot was now his con- 
stant companion. Ormond gave him a carte blanche to his 
factors, and charge of much of his business. He re- 
paid this confidence by the exhibition of the solicitude 
of a son. So kind was Ormond to him, and so gener- 
ous, that often while he sat and gazed at him, as he 
reclined on the lounge in the gallery, with his eyes 
cast on the floor, and absorbed in a melancholy reverie, 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


211 


he almost relented, and human feeling would pash 
through his breast. 

But when he would turn his eye toward the fields 
of waving cane, the towering chimneys of the sugar- 
house ; upon those noble buildings, and think that all 
this lordly property might on*e day be his ; then would 
all softer feelings be banished, the sorrowing coun- 
tenance and sad eyes of his friend be forgotten, and 
the flame of avarice burn so bright and clear, that he 
would have strangled his own first-born if it had 
thrown anj’’ impediment in the way of his ambition. 
As the probability of the speedy death of Ormond was 
presented to him, by his extreme weakness and ex- 
cessive pallor, he would feel as if the battle were over 
and the victory won ; his step would be firm, and his 
bearing more commanding. He sometimes visited 
New Orleans, and often saw Stamps, who had lost his 
place, but still clung to his old friendship. Talboi 
always supplied his wants, for he felt there was a time 
coming when he should need his services, and he 
would be repaid with usury. 

Zoe was now fifteen years of age, and Estelle two 
years her junior. They had never left the walls of the 
convent since their entrance; but now they signified 
a wish, if it were agreeable to their father, to return 
home. They had well-improved their time, and taken 
advantage of the opportunities offered, had readily 
become possessed of all those arts and accomplish- 
ments which are so elgantly taught by the ladies in 
those schools. Their native tongue was not neglected, 
while other languages were taught in all their pur- 
ity. They were bright creatures, full of animation, 
and beloved by the ladies and their fellow-pupils. 


212 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


Since the reception of the news of their mother’s death, 
Zoe had become more sei'ious and melancholy in her 
disposition. Louis Lamotte still went to the Poly- 
technique school, and sometimes came to see them, 
lie had at first felt for Zoe that pure childish prefer- 
ence over others which is exhibited by a fondness of 
association, and afterward by assiduous attention, 
resigning all pleasures for the sake of the loved object ; 
and, ultimately, when years of maturity crown them, 
the sly glances, the palpitations, the sighs, the tears, 
the tender pressure of hands, and the soft acknowledg- 
ments. Louis, as we have said, had, when a boy, 
sought the society of Zoe; the close companionship 
of a voyage had told upon a susceptible organization, 
and he felt that he loved. He had never had an 
opportunity in visiting them, of making his senti- 
ments known ; but, by slight actions and an occasional 
pressure of Zoe’s hand, which caused the warm rich 
blood to suffuse her face and neck. She knew that 
she was loved. He heard from her of their wish to 
return home, and he warmly seconded the desire. He 
had now grown up into a fine young man, with an eye 
of fire and a heart as noble, brave and pure, as a high 
course of moral training could make it 

As the spring drew on, and Ormond grew no worse, 
but rather better, Talbot conceived it advisable to 
return to his business. One evening he sought his 
patron and, with apparent reluctance, mentioned his 
wish to return to New Orleans. 

“ Mr. Talbot,” exclaimed Ormond, feelingly , ‘ I can 
not express to you my grateful feelings for your kind 
attention to me. I will not be ungenerous enough to 
ask you to remain to listen to the vagaiies of an in 


C^EOLIS OtlPHAK’S. 2l3 

valid like myself, and think, perhaps, it were bet- 
ter for you to return ; but come and visit me ; come 
and stay with me; you shall ever be a welcome 
guest, and in any event, remember that you have 
a friend upon whose kindness and purse you can ever 
rely.” 

After some further conversation they separated. 

A few mornings after, he came to bid adieu to hia 
Dost. The parting, on the side of one, was an exhi- 
bition of feeling which was pure; on the other it waa 
fc^rced. 

A package was placed in Talbot’s hands, as he 
turned to go on board the steamer. In the privacy 
of his state-room he opened it. and a check for Jive 
hundred dollars was exhibited, with simply the words 
in the envelop — ‘‘ From an affectionate friend^ He 
grinned with ghastly delight, and exclaimed ; “ This 
will do to begin the campaign with ; we must always 
have the treasury chest full ; for there may be lawyers 
to fee if this affair does come off ;” and with this ex- 
clamation of unfeeling, fiendish brutality, he stalked 
to the bar, and, with a lordly air, ordered a cocktail. 

As he passed through the crowd of passengers, a 
sentence from one of them seemed to be aimed at him ; 
for it struck home with peculiar force, and rung in 
his ears for many a day afterward. The expression 
was, ‘‘ Well, who knows but it is best to be honest 
aaer all?” 

Who knows?” mentally answered Talbot, as ha 
passed forward, puffing a cigar, and pressing the pocket 
which contained the precious paper. 

The summer came, and passed into the fall, and the 
joyous echos of the cane-cutters resounded through 


214 THE CREOLE ORPHANS* 

the densely covered field. Ormond had improved in 
health. 

“I really believe, Hall,” said he one day to the 
father-in-law of Dr. Grant, who was on a visit to him, 
as they were walking slowly along to the sugar-house ; 
‘‘ I really believe that I shall get well after all ; and if 
I care about recovering, it is for the sake of my 
children.” 

“I know that you are much stronger than you 
were,” answered his friend, looking at him with affec- 
tion ; “ and you know with what delight your friends 
witness your amendment.” 

“ Ah I Hall, I have kind and warm friends indeed.” 

’ t 

“ I believed once that I should have the sorrow to 
witness your death, Ormond ; but God has listened to 
your prayers as well as mine.” 

“ I have been chastened heavily,” lie answered, with 
a sigh ; but the Almighty has seen fit for me to sur- 
vive the sad blow.” 

*'We have all of us had our heart-strings strained 
near to breaking, Ormond. Poor Caroline I she sleeps 
in a foreign land.” Here a large tear stole down the 
cheek of the kind father, at the recollection of his 
daughter’s fate. *‘1 wonder where Grant is now?” 
he suddenly asked. 

“God knows! You have never heard from him 
since that sorrowful event?” 

“No.” 

“ I wish I could be with him.” 

“I think if you could have gone to Paris when 
you spoke of it, Ormond, you would have recovered 
long since, and even now a sea voyage would benefit 
you.” 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 216 

' I hardly think it advisable to leave borne now. 
HiiTi ; but next spring, if I am spared, I will go for 
my obildren. Zoe is now sixteen years old, and she 
must take her mother’s place in the family.” 

They must be very lovely girls now. I would 
have visited them if I had gone to Italy before poor 
Caroline died ; but you remember I was not at home 
wlien that black, black letter came.” 

Nothing more was spoken for a few minutes, until 
they arrived at the sugar-house. 

I see that young man Talbot has returned to the 
city ?” 

“ Yes, he returns to his business. I shall always 
feel grateful to him for his kind attention to me while 
I really needed it.” 

“Well, Ormond, I am thankful to him also, and do 
not think hard of me if I speak my mind ; but I can 
not say if I am right. It is impossible for me to like 
that man. I can not believe that he is sincere. There 
is too great a desire to conciliate ; it is apparent in all 
he does. I never trust a man who is ever striving 
against his natural feelings to become popular, except 
he is a candidate for some office, and then it is policy. 
But I pray God I may be deceived, and that you may 
find him true.” 

“ I disliked him myself at first, but time has worn 
)ff my prejudices.” 

“ I may not be right, Ormond ; but mark me if that 
man does not show the cloven foot yet.” 

“ God forbid! Hall. I would not be deceived; for 
I wish the young man well, and it is my intention to 
act a good part by him.” 

“ I shall never have any confidence in him,” 


216 


TfiE CHEOLE ORPHANS. 


“I would give a great deal to hear of Grant,” said 
Ormond, turning the conversation. 

“ And I/’ answered the other. “ 1 much fear from 
his silence that he lives no longer.” 

Oh ! for those once happy days of peace and tran. 
quillity, when, with dear friends around us, we feared 
no interlopers, no stratagems; but those days have 
gone forever, and happiness is no longer ours.” 

‘M)ur loss is great, Ormond; but time will bring 
healing on its wings.” 

“ How contented, how perfectly satisfied we once 
were ! Our pleasant meetings, our pic-nics, our 
hunts— do you remember them ?” 

“ All, all ! and 1 remember that dinner in the woods, 
when Hartley was first brought here. What a clever 
gentleman he was ! I was not there, but I heard the 
doctor and Herndon often laugh about it, and describe 
Pierre’s big drink.” 

“Yes, yes,” sighed Ormond; “how strange Hartley 
never wrote I” 

“ ’Tis the way of the world.” 

“ The world ! it is not so bright to me as of yore ; 
the sun is darker, the flowers have lost their fragrance, 
and when the spring breezes pass gently by me, they 
carry sorrow on their wings; there is a breathing 
melancholy in all nature. I sometimes catch myself 
going to the chamber which she used to occupy, with 
some message in my mind ; and I startle myself with 
the echo of her name on my lips, as it sounds through 
the deserted chamber. I hear her voice in the even- 
ing winds, and every perfume which is wafted past 
me reminds me of the lost. Alone, I seem to heai 
mysterious voices in the air, and almost fancy I feel 


Tlttl CRIIOLE OE^fiAJ^S. 


217 


tlie stirring of unseen wings near my cheek. Are we 
not watched by our friends in the spirit land? Do 
they not guard us? Are they not near us? Do they 
not rejoice in our joy, and sorrow at our unhappi- 
ness ?” 

This may be true, Ormond ; but your silent m.us 
ings have affected your mind ; it is not healthy 
Mingle more in the world ; try to take an interest in 
other affairs ; do not give way to such morbid fancies 
they will work you an injury.” 


CHAPTER XX. • 


“F/ots and counterplots.” 

“ He ^ho spreads a snare for others often gets caught himself.” 


rpHE reader will now imagine a period of two years 
^ passed away since the last-described scene. 

The characters of our history remain in the same 
situation iri which we left them. Ormond had gradu- 
ally improved in health, until he acquired a seeming 
vigor of constitution as in earlier days, and at times he 
was almost lively. He had deferred his trip to France 
until Zoe and Estelle were so urgent to return that he 
proposed to go for them. Dr. Grant had never been 
heard from, and his friends supposed him dead. Tal- 
bot was still a clerk, and Stamps also had a situation 
in the same house. As often as Talbot met Ormond 
in the street, he came to the conviction that he had 
counted without his host, and the memory of the 
words he once heard, “ Who knows but it’s best to be 
honest after all,” often came into his mind. As his 
hopes died off in proportion as the health of Ormond 
increased, so his intimacy with Stamps was lessened 
Poor Ormond ! little did you dream when you met 
the viper in your walks, when you kindly gave him 
your hand, and offered your purse so generously, when 
the warm pressure of your hand was returned, little 
did you know that at that very moment the cold- 
blooded scoundrel was speculating on your death: 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


219 


that the rosy hue of your cheek sent a death-blow to 
the hopes which he was cherishing. But so it was ; 
for he was Talbot still. 

But a change was again to creep over the good and 
pure, the high-hearted Ormond; and although the 
health of this noble man seemed restored, there was 
in his breast a secret agent at work, slowly but sarely 
sowing the seeds of death. And this was hastened by 
a severe cold which he caught on the lake, by the up- 
setting of a boat. 

During the winter, his disease was much benefited 
by remaining close in the sugar-house, while they 
were boiling sugar ; but when the crop %as taken off, 
his cough returned, and his friends were anxious for 
him to try the effects of a sea voyage. He, at their 
urgent entreaties, sailed for New York, intending to 
take a vessel thence for France and Italy. He reached 
New York ; and a month’s sojourn, awaiting the ar- 
rival of Herndon, who had remained at the North 
during all this time, convinced him that it was useless 
to struggle now with the disease. His medical advisers 
candidly informed him that his lungs were much 
affected, and counseled him at once to repair to Lou- 
isiana. He returned home to die, Herndon arrived 
in New York three days after he had left, and his 
bufdness would not permit him to follow him. His 
whole fortune, save his planting interest, was involved 
in the great commercial crisis at this period ; and he 
remained, fighting with the harpies of W all-street for 
his rights. He had intended long since to return to 
Louisiana ; but his legal friends advised him to remain 
on the ground. Eeport also said that he intended to 
introduce a New England bride to the Creoles of 


220 


THE CREOLE ORRHAH3, 


Louisiana. At all events, he found some inducement 
to remain ; and, save a voyage to England, he had 
never left the scene of his labors. 

Ormond arrived in New Orleans. Talbot met him 
in the street after landing, and was startled by the 
look of extreme emaciation and suffering which he 
exhibited. He noticed it, and smiled, attributing it to 
the shock at seeing the change. 

It is nothing but natural. You see I can not last 
long.’^ 

You look very badly, sir/’ returned he ; ‘‘ for 
when you sailed for New York, it was said you were 
improving.” 

“ I had improved much, but it was only temporary. 
I became worse immediately, and I feel that my days 
are numbered.” 

He insisted on Talbot’s calling on him while ho 
remained in the city, and slowly walked to the 
hotel. 

‘‘ Now,” exclaimed Talbot, as he watched the reced- 
ing, but still portly form of his benefactor, “ now 
comes the tug of war I Ormond, I feel sorry for you. 
Still calm and proud amid your decay — a noble ruin ; 
but oh ! I feel more for myself, who have been so long 
crushed under the gaunt hand of poverty and con- 
tempt : still, I would even save you if I could ; but J 
can not, and the time has arrived which makes or mars 
me.” 

That evening he sought Stamps ; they were together 
all the evening. He now exhibited a great deal of 
good fellowship for him. Poor Stamps was delighted| 
for he still felt an attachment for Talbot. 

“We have not been as intimate as we used to be, 


THE CKEOLE OKPHANS. 221 

Billy,” he remarked, as they seated themselves at the 
table of an oyster-saloon. 

No, Tolly ; but you know I always did like you, 
though you have rather cut me lately, when you got 
among them big relations of yours.” 

“ Oh 1 that is a mistake of yours, Billy ; I always 
thought the same of you. You know a man must 
show some attention to his relations ; but let it be 
all forgotten. I will pledge you in a bottle of wine. 
You know I can not drink any thing strong. Here, 
waiter ! — a bottle of Hock.” 

Well, Tolh^, don’t order any of that sour stuff for 
me ; I would rather drink good vinegar/i^ 

‘‘ What will you have then, Billy ?*” 

“ Brandy I brandy ! Tolly.” 

The order was given again, and brandy brought for 
Stamps. That ’s the liquor for the souls of men,” 
exclaimed he, fondly tapping the decanter. 

Here is to our old friendship, Billy,” said Talbot ; 
‘‘ may it never decay.” 

“I’ll drink to that, with pleasure. Tolly ; and here 
is a hand and a heart that never failed a friend.” 

“In that relation, Billy, I may have occasion for 
them sooner than you expect.” 

“ Ah ! the sooner the better.” 

“ Billy, listen to me. Suppose I were to tell you 
that the time draws near when we have to act ; that 
the period is approaching, when the ripe fruit is to be 
shaken by the autumn wind into our lap.” 

“ The Lord send it along quickly !” he exclaimed^ 
u rvently, “ and let mo be in at the gathering.” 

“ Well, my boy, I have looked for signs, and they 
have been given nae.” 


222 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


“ Wh'it is one of the signs, Tolly ?” 

‘‘ One of the signs is, that some of the obstacles 
between the propet-ty and myself are about to be re- 
moved — ^by death.” 

“What, not that old gentleman that has been so 
kind to you? — the one, I mean, who was so distressed 
by the death of his wife.” 

“ The same.” 

‘Well, Tolly I and could you sit by, and think of 
yoarself when you saw that he was suffering?” 

“ Well, well, n — not exactly,” replied Talbot, 
alarmed, lest the cold-hearted fiendishness of the thing 
should disgust even his tool. “The fact is, this prop- 
erty, by right, belongs to our family ; and after his 
death, I am the nearest collateral heir. It is nothing 
but fair that I should inherit after him. Come, Billy, 
take another drink,” he continued, seeing Stamps con 
tract his forehead, and bend his eyes thoughtfully 
down on the table. “ Here is to you ; and when we 
take possession, we will have the best horses, and good 
liquor, and cigars, all the time.” 

“ Ah, Tolly,” he said, tossing off a glass of brandy, 
“ I never expect to have all those things till I get to 
heaven, and even then, they will put off some second- 
hand things on me.” 

“ Ah ! but, my boy, we will have new things ; we 
will wake up all creation ; come and go when we will, 
and no one to say a word to us. You will come in for 
half, you know.” 

“ That’s too good. Tolly 1 but will you do as you 
say ? Won’t you, as soon as you have done with me, 
kick me off, like all the other rich folks do ?” 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


223 


‘‘No, sir ! "but you don’t believe your friend would 
do that? Ah I no, Billy !” 

I don’t think you would ; but I do think it is a 
heap better to be honest.” 

“ Oh I yes : who would be guilty of any thing mean ? 
my very soul scorns it. At the same time, a man 
must take care of his own interest.” 

^ “ Certainly, Tolly, certainly ; and to help you there, 
1 will join you in any thing to make a raise.” Here 
he took another sip of brandy. “ But where does this 
old gentleman live ?” 

“ Never mind ! you will find that out too.” 

“You are wonderful sly. Tolly; but here is my 
hand on it!” he cried, loudl 3 ^ 

“ Look here 1 don’t tell every body in the room of 
it,” cried Talbot, looking around him, alarmed. 

“Well, I won’t; but what is it you want me to 
do?” 

“ Well, you know that before a man takes possession 
of his property there are certain formalities to go 
through with, all mere formalities, though.” 

“ Oh, yes, certainly ! that is, I suppose so, for I 
never had to go through much ceremony in taking 
charge of my property ; but I will do any thing for 
you in the world except swear to a lie, and Tolly, I ’ll 
be hanged if I do that; no Sirree! My poor old 
mother, God bless her, she ’s gone now ; she used to 
make me kneel down by her side o’ nights when I wrs 
a little shaver, and she used to say in her soft good 
voice, ‘ Never tell a lie, my son,’ ” 

“ But telling one for a friend, is not swearing to one 
Tolly.” 

“ No, it is not the same,” he replied, hesitatingly. 


224 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


“ Not at all, it ’s done every day.” 

The more ’s the pity ; but what am I to do?*' 

“There is no lie in the case. I do not kno y that 
there will be any part for you to act at all ; I may 
have to send you away, maybe not; but you \.ill be 
well paid, and you must do what you have to perform 
well, for the other side will employ the best counsel.” 

“ Of course they will ; but where will I have to gg 
to?” 

“ To Fiance, maybe.” 

“ To France I why — why I speak French as well 
as 1 do Turkish, ha, ha ! but that ’s a good one. And 
for what ?” 

“ I can not tell you yet, Billy,” returned Talbot, 
who saw that he had gone far enough. “ I will have 
to study on it.” 

“Yery well, Tolly, through fire or water, it the 
same to me ; here ’s to you. I wish 1 had to start to- 
morrow ; only say the word, and I am off, you know 
that when I am under a promise I never fail.” 

“Yes, but you talk too loud; — you are attracting 
the attention of every body in the room ; come and 
let us walk out, and I will tell you more.” Then 
rising and settling with the barkeeper, he drew Stamp’s 
arm through his own, and they left the room. 

Down the street they walked, arm in arm, Talbot 
studying in what way to bind his companion to him 
in such a manner that he could not retract; and he in 
a half drunken state, leaning heavily on Talbot’s arm, 
with visions of wine and women floating in an indis- 
tinct manner through his mind. They walked on and 
turned down into a broad street ; a handsome row of 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


225 


trees occupied the center ; they passed over and found 
themselves under the frowning arch of a church. 

** Billy,” said Talbot, as they seated themselves 
upon the cold stone steps ; “ this is a matter which re* 
quires all our thoughts, and although it may seem 
premature to give it such attention now, I believe it is 
the best to be prepared and have every thing under- 
stood beforehand; it is no boy’s play, but a struggle 
for wealth and power ; a something which we have at 
a distance seen at a sublime height years ago, and 
never expected in reality to reach. Such a situation 
is now offered to us as will insure to us the extent of 
our desires the remainder of our life. The next ques- 
tion is, will you join me and stand by me, or have 
you any scruples ?” 

No, Tolly 1 I have told you I would pack my 
trunk and start right away, if you want me.” 

Well, that is right; listen ! We are all actuated 
by self-interest, every one is -for himself — here in this 
great city as every where else ; the big merchants they 
swindle the poor devils of planters ; they again crowd 
the negroes ; the lawyers, they keep difficulties alive, 
while the doctors pray for cholera and yellow fever ; 
and thus it is all around ; even here in this building, 
which every Sunday resounds to the song of praise, 
even its high priest talks for glory and self-interest ; 
the doctrine is ‘Let God take care of the rich, the 
poor can take care of themselves.’ ” 

“ I think you ought to have studied for the minis- 
try, Tolly, you are a pretty good talker.” 

“ Pshaw I listen to me ; I wish you to swear here 
on the steps of this holy building ; we will then un- 
derstand each other. If you will aid me in everv 
Jo 


226 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


manner, and implicitly obey without hesitation, (my 
request I may make, I will divide with you. There 
are two young girls in the case. They are in Paris, 
and if we ever get possession I will have power over 
them. You shall have one of them, and a portion of 
the property. Will you join me?” 

Stamps had listened ; he was now sobered by the 
walk and the cool air; he arose. 

“ Tolly, you have got me on a weak point ; keep 
your promise to me, and I will be faithful to you. 
Yes!” he continued, ‘‘I swear by the memory of my 
Id gray -headed mother, to be true to you, even at the 
sacrifice of my own life.” 

“Only swear in that manner!” cried Talbot, rising, 
and facing him closely, “ only swear in that manner, 
and then we will ratify the bargain, and divide the 
spoil; for the time is not distant when he will be laid 
with his fathers, the death mark is on his brow.” 

“Ido, I do!” answered he. His friend answered 
not a word, but stretched forth his hand and grasped ' 
the other: be held it a moment — the contract was 
formed. 

A few evenings after saw Talbot in close and con- ^ 
fidential conversation with an attorney. He occupied | 
a little, low, dingy, dirty office in an obscure street. 
Talbot had thought it was now time to seek legal ad- 
vice ; he was determined not to commit himself in 
any manner, and had sought the acquaintance of Jo- ■ 
eiah Hiver, Esquire, for the purpose of consulting him, ^ 
and candidly made a true statement of the whole af- ^ 
fair. ^ 

This Hiver w as the very man of all others whom ^ 
be should have sought. Kicked from the bar in tha 


THE CKEOLE OKPHANS. 


227 


North, he lived here in this den, bat gained consider 
able notoriety from ever being the champion of the 
prosecutor. Low and sordid in his own tastes, he 
comprehended all which Talbot required at once ; and 
by the present payment of a fee, swore to remain faith 
fill, and be on hand when he was wanting. 

‘^If the facts are borne out by an examination, sir,” 
bo answered, “ I can not apprehend any difficulty at 
all. The children can not inherit, that is certain, for 
what says the law.” Here he turned over the leaves 
of a large folio and read : “ Illegitimate children can 
not claim the rights of legitimate children. But if 
they were legitimated by a subsequent marriage, there 
would be no obstacle to their heirship — do you see?” 

‘‘Ido!” 

“Well, when there are no legitimate children and 
no descendants, the natural children may inherit one 
third to one fourth of the estate ; or, they claim ali- 
mony, provided they are acknowledged ; now, in thi? 
case there is no acknowledgment ?” 

“ None at all, I am confident.” 

“Where are these children now?” 

“In France,” he answered, and then added — 

“ I have neglected to say to you, from all I have 
learned, that the mother of these girls was a Quadroon^ 
and a slaved'* 

“The devil! Well, that alters the whole case, for 
if the children of this woman are not slaves also, then 
you can eat me, sir! they are slaves sir, and as such 
can not inherit. You as the nearest heir come in 
you claim the administration, take charge of the prop- 
erty, and dictate your own terms. I would claim 
them, sir! claim them; they are your property; the 


228 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


law will hear you out; all right as a trivet, sir! 
Mother was never manumitted previous to her death 1 
^She died a slave; the children follow the condition of 
tlie mother. But if she was manumitted we will find 
it out We must move cautious in this matter; the 
estate is large, and there will probably be high counsel 
employed on the other side.” 

“ I do not believe that there will be any thing done 
but we must, as you say, not move in the dark.” 

Yes, yes; you are rights but there may be some 
lien or tacit mortgage on it. Keep dark. How long 
can the present incumbent possibly last ?” 

“ I think not over two months.” 

“Probably not over as many weeks, eh?” 

The light burned dimly in that little office. There 
sat those two black-hearted villains, like ravenous 
vultures, preparing to pounce down upon the kind 
and good, who lay upon a bed of sickness, calmly 
passing away to the tomb. There they sat. The one 
with his sharp and peaked nose, his high, uneven 
forehead, his shaven temples and pursed mouth ; the 
other, with all the cunning of a fiend, and the avarice 
of a miser, plotting the ruin of two innocent girls, and 
coolly calculating the death of such a man as Ormond. 
But, poor fellow I you were good, and pure, and 
dreamed it not. Much more conversation ensued of 
the same import. Talbot well knew that he had a 
great stake to play for, and determined not to lose it 
by an ill-advised move. He knew there would be 
opposition, but his own knowledge convinced him 
that it would be useless to struggle with him ; for the 
law itself, in fault of other heirs, would sanction his 
inheritance ; and he was now preparing to prove the 


l^flE CREOLE ORPtrAK-S. 


229 


daughters of his friend were not capab.e of inheriting. 
His designs on the girls, now grown up to woman- 
hood, were not developed in his own mind; being of 
a sensual disposition, he held female virtue in such low 
estimation that he fully believed that if they knew 
they were dependent on his bounty, they could "be 
easily forced to yield to his wishes. Ah ! little knew 
he the strength of female virtue. He at the same time 
intended to act falsely toward Stamps ; and as soon as 
he found no more use for him, to cut adrift and let 
him float away. 

He very soon after the above scene with Hiver, 
visited Ormond, who was still at the hotel ; he did so 
with a view of actually ascertaining the condition of 
his victim. He went with the philosophic indifference 
of a surgeon who incises deeply the diseased member, 
seemingly unconscious of the agonizing pain he is in- 
flicting. He w^ent with the calmness of a savant who 
goes to examine some new specimen ; thus went he to 
ascertain the physical condition of Ormond, and to 
speculate on the length of time he would be kept out 
of the property. But he came with strong expressions 
of pity and consolation upon his lips. 

Talbot had formed a very strong and favorable im 
pression upon the mind of Pierre, by liberal presents 
and conversations with him, while residing there ; and 
as Ormond now returned home, he promised to visit 
him at an eailj day, hoping to retain Pierre in his 
employ, and give him some items. 

He kept his promise. Ormond was fast sinking. 
He saw Pierre privately, and informed him of the state 
of his master’s health ; and then slipping some money 
inlo his hand, he charged him to lay hold of, and keep. 


230 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


allpapeis of whatever kind he saw, to give to him 
when he came up again ; and promised him his free- 
dom if eyer he came into possession of the property. 

As day by day rolled on, he looked for the death 
of his benefactor, and with feverish anxiety glanced 
over the address of every letter which came into the 
office ; and eagerly read over the deaths in every 
morning paper. He had further conversations with 
his lawyer, and strolled about the street at night with 
Stamps, exciting his imagination with the description 
of pleasures he never intended to allow him to par- 
ticipate in ; and training his mind to a fit state for the 
perpetration of any crime. 


/ 


CHAPTER XXL 


* Keep silence daughter of frivolity, for Death is in t tat chamber.” 

1 T was evident to Ormond, and to his friends also, 
that he was rapidly declining. That once full 
form, robust in health, rich in pride of handsome and 
matured manhood, *was now thin and weak. That 
step, once so proud and firm, was now tottering and 
vacillating, and he trembled as if age had suddenly 
come over him. His breath was quick and short, and 
his eye sparkled with fatal brilliancy. He occupied 
the time mostly in reading books of a devotional char- 
acter; but he had always exhibited a partiality for 
newspapers, and he indulged in this even now. He 
sat in a large cane-chair in the front gallery, gazing at 
the negroes at work in the field ; and many was the 
tear which was dropped, and heavy sigh that was 
heaved, as they passed. His constant companion, 
however, was poor Marie’s prayer-book; and often 
bitter tears would fall upon the pages as he saw some 
well-remembered passage, or viewed with a sad heart 
a turned down leaf, where she had wept and prayei 
Sometimes he would receive the visit of a neighbor, 
and listen listlessly to his conversation; but all his 
friends, from feeling, studiously avoided any allusion 
to his situation. 

But he noticed their looks of sympathy, their words 


232 


THE CKEOLE ORPHAltS. 


of cheerfulness, when he saw in them no hope I There 
was a clergyman in the neighborhood who frequently 
came to see him. He was a good and pure man, and 
their conversations frequently turned upon religious 
subjects. He would freely speak of religion in the 
abstract, for he had ever been a moral man, and 
respected the laws of God, but he would listen to no 
sectarian principles. 

“ My friend,” he said, one day, as the conversation 
turned toward baptism, and some particular points of 
faith, “ no more of that, I know, I feel that my allot- 
ted time on earth is short, I have lived out my days in 
peace; and have never to my knowledge done injury 
to man. My sins are those of omission ; I die, I hope 
a Christian and a gentleman. I embrace no creed, for 
I have faith in the atoning blood of a dying Saviour 
I have tried to be a just man ; 

“ * Prayers now extorted may be vain 
The hour of mercy past * 

At all events, I have ever believed in the mercy and 
love of God to his children, and into His hands will I 
submit my case.” 

A fit of coughing interrupted him, and he fell back 
in pain. The minister was a sensible man, and a good 
one, and he saw Ormond was right. 

One evening, just before sunset, as he was reclining 
in his easy-chair, with his head thrown back, gazing 
upward at the gorgeous clouds, as they were piled in 
the west, his mind was sad, for his thoughts were of 
his almost orphan children, a step was heard in the 
gallery ; a hand was gently laid upon his arm ; he 


tHE CREOLE ORPHAiTS. 233 

turned his head ; it was Herndon ; a quick flush shot 
over his features. “Why — how — did you?” was all 
he could gasp out, as he extended both hands. 

“ I heard you were ill ; dying, I left my business and 
hastened to be with you and here his heart gr(',w full, 
he leaned on his friend’s breast, and the tears welled 
forth freely. Oh, it is a touching thing to see the 
strong man bowed in grief, to see the convulsive hear- 
ings of a manly breast, and know that heart is wrung 
by a terrible agony. But it does no shame to the 
heart of such a man; he can weep and be a man 
still. 

Herndon had received a letter from Mr. Hall, who 
apprised him of Ormond’s situation. With a sorrow- 
ful heart he at once left for Louisiana. 

Herndon now remained constantly with his friend ; 
he only staid at home long enough to his give orders, 
and then return to Ormond. 

Days came and went, and Herndon remained in 
close attendance on his companion. As often as he 
saw him, he would make up his mind to speak to him 
of his affairs and of his trip to Martinique — as he act- 
ually knew nothing of what the reader is aware, for 
he left previous to their return — but when he looked 
at the calm clear eye of his friend, and noticed his look 
of quiet contentment, a tear would dim his own. 

The only thing which ever passed between them on 
the subject, was one day when he had been playing 
chess with him, which he often did as a relaxation, 
he said, 

“ Herndon, when I am gone, you will find a pack* 
age directed to you, and one for my children. The 
one for yourself contains my last wishes ; I count upon 


234 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


you as a friend, and call upon you as a dying man to 
see them carried out.” 

Herndon arose and took his hand ; his lip trembled 
as he leplied, 

“Command me, dear Ormond, in every thing/’ 

“Nay, nay, my friend,” said he, with a half 
teal and a smile ; “ one would think it was you who 
were dying, instead of myself ; don’t look so sorrowful.” 
And the tears would gush into the eyes of his faithful 
friend, and he had to turn away to hide them. 

“ Another thing, Herndon,” he said, when he had sat 
a few moments, as if absorbed in a reverie ; “ I may be 
eccentric, but it is my wish : lay me in the garden un- 
der the shade of the old oaks, where she and myself 
have so often sat ; and then, my friend, I wish her body 
brought from below, and under those spreading 
branches, place it by my own. Will you promise me 
this?” 

“ Enough, enough, Ormond, in the name of God ; yea 
— have done — you shall be obeyed and he raised his 
hands and pressed them on his breast, as if seeking re- 
lief from some great internal pains. 

Ormond never again alluded to his approaching dis- 
solution, but sat and awaited the coming of the de- 
stroyer with fortitude and resignation. He often 
spoke of Grant in the most affectionate manner. Tlie 
servants all seemed anxious to be doing something for 
his comfort, and frequently stopped on their way to 
work, to say a kind word to massa. Old Sally vis- 
ited him daily, and generally with some little thing 
which she had concocted for him. She would, talk to 
him by the hour, and sometimes even make him smile 
at her earnest manner and odd conceits 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


236 


Never mind, massa, de Lord He is goorl, and I 
knows dat wlien de spring comes, and de flowers and 
de mocking-birds a singin’ around, den you will be 
well agin ; keep good heart, massa.” 

“No, no, Aunt Sally,” he replied, “when the 
spring comes, and the flowers and birds, your poor 
master will lie low, with the grass waving green over 
him.” 

“Now de Lord knows, it nuff to make me mad to 
hear you talk so ; it’s a shame ; you only got a bad cold, 
and will soon get well.” 

A few more daj^s, and Ormond grew weaker, and 
thinner. He had no strength left now, and had to be 
drawn into the gallery by Pierre, whom he kept about 
him, as he w’as a good nurse. He received his friends 
with a calm smile of pleasure ; he tried, while they 
were present, to divert their minds from his situation, 
and conversed in a low steady tone on different sub- 
jects. But the time was fist drawing nigh when the 
debt must be paid, and that noble head be bowed ; he 
grew still weaker and thinner, but his eye retained its 
fire, and his mind its tone. He bore his pain so nobly 
and so uncomplainingly. All who visited him, breath- 
ed an atmosphere of sorrow, which surrounded him 
like a halo. Thus it was among friends ; but in the 
silence of his lonely chamber, would he give vent to 
his feelings ; there would he sit and gaze passionately 
for hours, at a miniature of Marie, and his thoughts 
would go back to her, 

“Not lost but gone before.” 

And his orphan children too, they were remembered, 
and then would his bosom swell and his sorrowing 


m 


tSe creole orphai^s. 


heart seem fit to burst, at their unprotected situatioa 
He would bury his face in his hands, and the tears 
would burst through, and trickle down his emaciated 
fingers, while low moans would escape from his over- 
charged bosom. 

Then a little bell would sound, a servant enter, and 
administer to him the opiate which solaced him, and 
eased his terrible cough. 

The prostrating power of the disease was more evi- 
dent daily, and it was plainly to be seen that it would 
soon be over. Before he became so weak, he was one 
night sitting writing, Pierre was at the window nod- 
ding. He finished, and sealing the package, exclaimed. 

“ Pierre !” The negro stood before him. 

“Your master will soon be no more, Pierre, and I 
want you as you love him, listen.” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ When I am dead, you will take this paper bundle, 
Pierre, and give it to Mr. Herndon. Let no one but 
him have it; it is important to the interests of your 
young mistresses. You are faithful, Pierre, and would 
not deceive your dying master. You love them, 
Pierre?” 

“ Yes, massa; me nuss ’em long ago.” 

“Well, take it then, place it in the locked drawer 
of the secretary there ; there is the key, and be very 
careful when all is over to do as T have requested 
you.” 

“ Yes, massa; me gwine to do jest as you tells me.” 

Ormond handed the negro the package, and saw 
him lock it in the drawer as he had directed, which, 
when he had done, he deposited the key in a wafer- 
box on the table. 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


237 


It was some ten days afterward, he was too weak 
to rise, and lay on his couch propped up with pillows. 
It was about twelve o’clock at night, and all was still. 
Ormond was sleeping sweetly, and lay like an infant 
taking its rest. Pierre now determined to obtain pos- 
session of the papers, which he knew Talbot would 
pay well for. He entered the room ; a servant sat on 
a trunk, leaning against the wall, fast asleep ; he trod 
softly ; he looked at his master, who lay there uncon- 
scious of the foul wrong about to be done to his un- 
happy children. No feeling of pity found its way to 
the hardened negro’s heart ; no emotion of sorrow 
stirred in his breast, as he turned and gazed at the 
attenuated form of the good, kind master and friend.; 
one who had never put a stripe on him, and who had 
overlooked many a fault ; whose whole life had been 
to him one kind action. He started, as Ormond 
moaned in his sleep uneasily. He approached the 
servant to see if he were sleeping also ; his deep, regu- 
lar breathing assured him. He grasped the candle, 
and approached his master’s side; he looked at the 
workings of his countenance ; he was evidently dream- 
ing of happier days, and as the remembrance floated 
through his mind, the large tears slowly burst through 
the closed eyelids, and rolled down his cheeks, wet- 
ting the pillow. But no remorse filled the soul of the 
black demon ; he saw his master was asleep, and hav- 
ing softly unlocked the drawer, abstracted the paper, 
and, replacing the key, swiftly left the room. 

“ Marie, dearest !” sighed Ormond, as the negro dis 
appeared, “I have found you at last; this is heaven 
now !” 

“ I will soon be gone, Herndon,” he said one even- 


238 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


ing, as that gentleman sat by his bedside, and had to 
lean over and put his ear close to the lips of the 
speaker to distinguish his words, so weak was he. 

“ God bless you, my poor friend !” he replied, as he 
pressed his hand, and his voice was tremulous with 
emotion. 

‘‘ If Grant ever returns,” he again whispered, “ tell 
him I loved him to the last, and give my love to 
him.” 

Herndon, seeing how swiftly he was sinking, de- 
termined to remain at his side until it was all over, 
which he foresaw would not be long. 

The next evening he ordered the servant to remain 
in his master’s chamber, and to call him on the slight 
est movement. Ormond had, under the influence of 
opiates, sunk into a sweet and tranquil slumber. He 
seemed entirely free from pain. Herndon had not 
slept a moment the night before, and laid down, but 
he could not sleep ; he arose and walked to the win- 
dow, gazing out. The moon was there, riding high 
in the heavens, unconscious of the joys and sorrows 
she revealed with her mellow light, and the stars 
hung out their silver lamps, bright and clear. The 
mocking-bird was among the topmost boughs of the 
live-oaks in the garden, making the air vibrate with 
its sweet, wild melody ; the tinkle of the melancholy 
cow-bell was heard in the distance, and the cricket’s 
chirp sounded loud and distinct. All nature seemed 
smiling sweetly, though sad. But a dark, heavy 
mass of clouds hung low in the south, and the wind 
commenced piping through the trees; the clouds 
' gathered thicker and darker, and the shutters flapped 
heavily against the side of the house a moment after 


THE CKEOLE ORPHANS. 


239 


ward. Herndon was restless and uneasy, and threw 
himself again upon the bed in the adjoining room, but 
not to sleep, for he believed that in this commotion 
of the elements the soul of Ormond would pass away. 
Again he entered the sick chamber ; he softly walked 
to the bedside. The patient seemed to be sleeping 
calmly, but there was a change on his countenance; 
he saw it. The eyes -had assumed a deeper place in 
the orbit ; the face was covered with a cold and 
clammy perspiration, and was fast assuming that ca- 
daverous hue so peculiar. Alas! poor Ormond: it 
was tbe herald of death 1 the bony monster was visi- 
ble, tangible. Herndon hastily awoke the negro who 
was sleeping in a chair, and bade him go and call the 
doctor, who was below, and also arouse the overseer, 
who had remained in the house that night at his 
request. 

Again he was at the bedside ; the physician came 
up in a few moments ; he also gazed at the sleeper, 
and pressing his finger lightly on the pulse, sadly 
raised his eyes toward Herndon. There was sorrow 
in that glance ; it needed no words ; there was a con- 
firmation of his worst fears. 

“How long do you think he will last, doctor?’^ 

“ Not over a few hours ; he may live until daylight^ 
but not longer,” was the reply. 

“ There he lay, with the impress 
Indelible, Death’s image on his brow.” 

He dispatched servants around among Orraond\. 
nearest friends, who readily obeyed the summons. 

Through the long watches of the night did that 
group of mourners stand around the couch of the true- 


240 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


hearted Ormond, and many were the tears dropped as 
they gazed at the noble figure lying in the tyrant’s 
grasp. 

The wind without had risen greatly, and an awful 
storm was careering in its might and power ; and the 
blast, it shrieked and howled ; and the trees groaned 
and quivered in their awful contest with the demon ol 
the tempest. Vivid flashes of lightning were seen 
bursting from the bosom of the black cloud, to rend 
the heavens, while the rain in torrents deluged the 
earth. It was a fearful night, and as the thunder 
roared in majestj^, human beings cowered and shrank 
with fear. 

But the storm passed off, the wind sank into low, 
sobbing murmurs, as if in grief, and the dawn opened 
clear and beautiful. He still lived, still sleeping away 
the little remnant of time which remained to him; 
yet he slept, passing to the deeper and profounder 
sleep, w’hich knows no waking. 

Several gentlemen now occupied fhe room. The 
morning light was shut out by curtains, and a dim 
twilight pervaded it. The shadow of death had settled 
on all around. 

He awoke, and, gazing around with a fast glazing 
eye at his friends, who gathered to the bedside, mur- 
mured, 

“ At last, the destroyer has come !” 

God’s will be done !” exclaimed the deep voice of 
the minister, who had arrived and praised be His 
holy name I” 

“ Amen I” responded Ormond, fervently; wliich 
was echoed by each one. 

“ It is dark,” he whispered. 


THE CEEOLE ORPHANS. 


241 


Will you have more light?’’ was asked. 

A look of assent being given, the curtains were 
lifted, and the light streamed into the apartment. 

The negToes had assembled around the door outside, 
and were all clamorous for admittance. At his request 
it was opened, and they came thronging in. He was 
too weak to talk, but stretched out his hand to all. 
As some favorite servant came up, and, seizing his 
weak hand, wept piteously over it; he gently smiled. 
They gathered closer. Some fell on their knees, and 
wept aloud ; while others kissed the pale hand, and 
strode out of the room to indulge their grief elsewhere. 

All were gone, and he turned his dying eyes to the 
circle of sorrowful friends gathered around him ; his 
eye brightened, and he made an effort to extend to 
them his hand. Herndon propped him up with pil- 
lows. First one friend, and then another came, and 
pressed his hand. They were all too much filled with 
sorrow to say Farewell but slowly, silently, and 
sadly, they stepped back. Others now take his thin 
hand, but they can not say “ Adieu I” He falls back 
exhausted on his pillow, from which he had slightly 
raised his head. 

Sobs are heard from many ; stifled, it is true, but 
noble, manly yielding to nature. 

His eyes now turn on Herndon : they speak of love 
and peace. He approaches his friend, and, taking both 
his hands, kneels by the couch; he presses them to 
his bosom, which rises and heaves as a tumultuous 
sea, and the tears flow in big, scalding drops. But 
again he rises, and as he places his hand on Ormond’s 
brow, he whispered, ‘‘It is come!” and sinks lower 
down on his pillow, his grasp relaxes, the eyes slowlv 


242 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


close, and, like a zephyr’s breath, or the soft note of 
some gentle spirit wandering ftom its sphere, the 
breath leaves him, and he is dead. 

** It is all over I” said the clergyman, as he solemnly 
turned to depart. “ Blessed are the dead which die 
\n the Lord.” 

Close we now the curtains. The Almighty has 
taken to the spirit’s home the soul which He gave. He 
has called back a noble, generous, and just being. Ho 
rests in peace, 

“ ’Mid holy prayers, and generous griefj and consecrating blessings." 


CHAPTER XXII. 


"Gan storied urn, or animated bust, 

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? 

Can Ilono ’s voice provoke the silent dust? 

Or Flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of Death ?" 

Gray. 

rpHE funeral came, with its solemn pageants, ita 
gloomy forms, its grief, and then all was over. 

They laid the honored dead beneath the spreading 
branches of the noble oak, whose grateful shade had 
so often sheltered him and his in happier days. 
There, where the rank grass grew around him, and 
the banks of violets, and the clematis, breathing soft 
perfume, as the mournful wind sighed through the 
limbs ; and the little bird warbled melody — he rested, 
after his wear}?' pilgrimage was over. 

When a proper period had elapsed, and Herndon 
could nerve himself to revisit those scenes which were 
fraught with so much emotion, he sought the dwelling 
of his late friend, and, with an officer of the law, 
placed a seal upon all papers and valuables. Tn vain 
they searched the house for the package which Or- 
mond had mentioned as bearing the address of Hern- 
don • and, when masses of documents had been over- 
hauled, and the negroes questioned concerning it, and 
it did not appear, they came to the conclusion that he 
had neglected it. 

‘‘ The property will be administered on ?” 


244 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


“ 1 presume so, of course,” replied Herndon. 

“ Who will administer?” 

“ I know not.” 

Would not you, as an intimate friend, be the most 
Buitable person to take out letters ?” 

It will be quite impossible for me to do it. I have 
my hands full, and may be called to New York any 
day, on business which must not be neglected.” 

“ Who else is there?” 

No one, except Hall.” 

Are there no relatives besides his children ?” 

** None, save a person by the name of Talbot, who 
resides in New Orleans ; and I would make every op- 
position in my power to prevent the administration 
being given to him. I would dislike to see him lord- 
ing it over this property. Although, if he makes an 
application for it, there may be no way of preventing 
him from obtaining it ; and the only hope is, that he 
may fail in giving security. I fear we shall have 
trouble with him. He may also, as the nearest of kin, 
be appointed curator to the children.” 

There was some talk, a few years ago,” remarked 
the officer, “ that it was not quite right between Or- 
mond and his wife. Is there any truth in it ?” 

Herndon colored up a moment; his eyes flashed at 
tlie lightness with which it was spoken ; but he re- 
membered it was a matter of public notoriety, and 
that every one did not have the same feelings for his 
departed friend as filled his bo^^^om. He therefore re- 
plied, calmly, “ The matter I dread, is that this per- 
son, Talbot, will be really fmtitled to the property, 
as the nearest collateral heir, unless Ormond has had 
an act of manumission passed, and legalized his mar 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


245 


riage, wliicli I very much fear he has neglected. He 
left home with the intention of doing so ; God grant 
he has done it ; for in that manner alone can his chil- 
dren inherit. In the other case, the prof erty will go 
to this man.” 

Did the colonel never mention to you the fact of 
this intention ?” 

Certainly ; it was a frequent conversation between 
us ; and he left for the West Indies for the purpose of 
taking action in the matter ; but alas ! all are gone 
who accompanied him : two are dead, and one, Dr. 
Grant, if living, is in some foreign country ; for I have 
not heard of him since the death of his wife ; and I 
feel convinced that if Ormond had really done any 
thing, we would have known it. Now, it may be pos- 
sible that Dr. Grant has communicated something of 
the matter to his father-in-law, Mr. Hall.” 

You know if there can not be some proof found 
in regard to it, that it will be very plain, and almost 
useless to contest it.” 

‘‘ I am aware of that ; oh ! Ormond, my friend, to 
what a situation you have reduced those dear children 
by your only fault, procrastination; noble and pure 
in all else, you have fearfully neglected their inter- 
ests.” 

‘Ht is a great pity that the children shpuld be thua 
cut out by this upstart. Is there no means to secure 
a portion at least for them ?” 

“ Only by the liberality of the heir, unless Ormond 
did enfranchise his wife. In any other case, the girls 
are totally in his power. Why, oh I why did I not 
speak out, and learn all before he died I” 

“It may be that he has intrusted the papers to 


246 THE CREOLE ORPHAN'S. 

> 

some one in the city: his merchant, perhaps, or the 
bank where he kept his account.” 

Herndon brightened up at this idea. ‘‘ God bless 
you for that suggestion 1” he said. And he determined 
to go at once to the city, and make a thorough examim 
ation, and not to give it up until it was folly hope 
longer. 

They mounted their horses. Herndon turned and 
looked back at the house ; thoughts of sadness filled 
his bosom. “ Oh ! what a change has come over this 
once happy home,” exclaimed he. “Where are the 
cheerful faces which made this dwelling light with 
joy ; they are gone, and desolation reigns over all I” 
He cast one look toward Ormond’s grave, and dashing 
a tear from his eye, quickly rode after his companion, 
who had gone on before. “But Ormond!” he cried 
with emphasis ; “I will work for your delay I and by 
the God who judges us all, if your children can be 
righted I will do it ; and if they can not, they shall be 
mine and have a home with me I” 

“ You are a noble fellow 1” exclaimed the notary, in 
admiration ; “ but you know, Herndon, that if Or- 
mond never did free his wife and children, they are 
incapable of inheriting, and are still slaves.” 

Herndon turned, and his eyes glared with rage at 
the bare thought. “ Let him only dare to breathe that, 
and I will put things to rights at once, and a coffin 
shall cover his unworthy remains.” 

The notary advised him to apply at once for letters 
on the estate, which he did that evening. He then 
rode over to the father-in-law of Dr. Grant, to seek 
some information. The doctor did not reside with his 
wife’s parents, but near them ; he thought it possible 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


247 


that they knew something concerning their trip to the 
West Indies; but no! — when they returned, the ex- 
treme illness of Mrs. Grant had shut out all things 
else of lesser importance, and he had never mentioned 
any thing of Colonel Ormond’s affairs in connection 
with the trip. 

He was foiled by flxte again, but had the pleasure of 
learning that a letter had been received from him a 
few weeks before ; he was then in St. Petersburg, and 
was en route for Vienna. Herndon sat down and wrote 
a letter to each of the large cities where Grant had re- 
sided, apprising him of the death of Ormond, and 
begging him to return at once, to assist him in righting 
the children of their friend. 

He at the same time wrote a letter to Zoe and Es- 
telle, detailing all that had occurred, and ended by 
offering a home to them when they returned. 

He then sat the entire night on the bank of the 
river alone; and it was only during the next day, that 
a steamer came by, and he was enabled to obtain a 
passage to the city. 

Oh, Talbot, my friend 1 look sharp, for you have an 
active and vigilant enemy abroad ; he is aroused, and 
blood-hound like, will return again and again on the 
track, and earth you at last. He is a man of work, 
and will leave no stone unturned to upset your de- 
signs ; be careful, or you will fall. 

Herndon stood upon the guards of the boat; she 
passed Ormond’s place ; he looked fondly upon the 
now tenantless homestead ; the doors and windows 
closed, and not a living thing to be seen. — ^Yes there 
was; it was Ormond’s riding horse,- a noble bay who 
was cropping disconsolately in the front yard, evej 


248 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


and anon raising his finely-formed head; and with 
pointed ears watching, and wondering seemingly, why 
the favorite hand caressed him not. 

Upon arriving in the city he lost no time in making 
diligent inquiries, but could find no clew to guide 
him. 

Ormond’s factors, nor the bank, had any papers in 
charge ; and he visited in rotation every notary’s and 
record office, but to no purpose. He then sat down 
to quietly await the issue of events, determining in 
his own mind to struggle for the children as long as 
there was a ‘‘peg to hang a hope upon,” and then to 
appeal to the manhood and generosity of Talbot. 

We said that he visited the office of every notary ; 
so he did, but there was the ruins of a building then 
smoking and moldering away, as he passed it. Oh ! 
had he known that here was the office v^here his friend 
had inscribed his name, and delivered his children 
from bondage. This was the office; it burned last 
night ; the records were partly consumed, and what 
were not were carried off by a thoughtless crowd. 
Alas ! poor orphans ! 

The papers duly chronicled the demise of Ormond, 
and it instantly caught the eye of Talbot. 

“Now has the game to be boldly played,” he said, 
while a flush of excitement passed over his face ; and 
he rapidly strode over the pavement in the direction 
of the office of Hiver. 

“Well, sir I” he exclaimed breathlessly, as he 
rushed into the den, and into the presence of the wor- 
thy attorney, who was engaged in red-taping a quan- 
tity of papers; “the game has commenced, and yon 
must be ready to accompany me.” 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


249 


*^What? eh?” he exclaimed, smacking his mouth 
and chewing his tobacco violently, while the filthy 
juice coursed in a stream down from each corner of 
his mouth. 

Has the old gentleman earthed himself at last ?” 

‘‘At last! at last ! and I have lost no time in calling 
on you, I intend applying at once for letters on the 
estate.” 

“Ah, exactly sir, exactly. Well, there is but one 
way, sir ; and that is as you say — to go up at once — 
be in time, and apply for letters. You will be put iu 
possession, and you know that possession gives title.” 

“ You think that I have the best right to administer ?” 

“ Think ! of course. You are the nearest legal 
heir; they can’t keep you out of it at all.' We will 
do every thing according to law ; and then, you see, 
no advantage can be taken of us. I am a law-abiding 
man, sir ; indeed, I may say that it is my meat and 
drink. Ha, ha! Well, sir, I am ready to accompany 
you when you will.” 

“ Very good ; then meet me in three hours in the 
bar room of the Hotel.” 

“Good, I am there. I have a friend to see, with 
whom I have a little business, when I go away.” 

“ Think well on it, Hiver, and don’t let us commit 
ourselves.” 

“ Bah ! I have not been in law for twenty years to 
make a faux pas now. I will put you straight, if you 
will only keep so.” As Talbot turned to go out, he 
called after him. “ Ah ! I say, that was a very lucky 
fire night before last! Ha, ha, ha! wasn’t it? every 
paper and book burned up, and the last evidence 
destroyed against you. Surely the gods befriend you.” 


250 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


“ The devil, perhaps,” said Talbot, bitterly. 

“ Maybe so, maybe so !” laughed Hiver, “ but it 
was a little remarkable, was it not? It saved us a 
world of trouble ; but we will make a good thing of it.” 

Talbot walked off. 

‘‘ The crafty old villain,” he muttered ; ‘‘ we will 
make a good thing of it. Yes, we will; but I will 
take good care that you don’t make much out of it; 
let me get into possession once, and I ’ll soon cut clear 
of you. All you want is to get me into your toils, 
and have a fat pigeon to pluck ; but maybe you will.” 

Hiver stood in his dingy office ; and, as he watched 
the receding form of Talbot, he bent his brows, ex- 
claiming, “ The upstart ! he already assumes airs ; he 
is a rascal, and would just as soon rob an orphan, or 
burn a will, as not ; he is timid and suspicious. I ’ll 
watch him ; for as soon as he gets into possession, he 
would just as soon drop me as a hot horse-shoe, and 
pick up some of our fashionable lawyers up town ; but 
I ’ll keep him in check, and feather my nest any how.” 

Such was the opinion of two great rascals of each 
other. 

Talbot hastens up town; he calls at his place of 
business ; states to his employer the fact of the death 
of his relation, and of his intention to administer on 
the estate. They accepted his resignation. Stamps, 
at his request, followed suit. To a clothing-store they 
then repaired, and fitted themselves out in a suit of 
black ; and, as the hour drew near, sought the appoint- 
ment with Hiver, whom tliey found awaiting them. 

Not many hours elapsed before they were steaming 
up the Mississippi. Talbot already felt his import- 
ance : and as he puffed his cigar, and sported a large 


tHE CREOLE ORPHAN’S. 26l 

gold-teaded cane on deck, he cast a look of super- 
cilious contempt on all around. 

“Well, we should make a pretty thing of it now, if 
there were a paper to be drawn on us in open courts 
enfranchising the wife and children,” exclaimed Hiver, 

“Don’t conjure up phantoms, Hiver; there is no 
danger of that. I have heard conversations enough 
to satisfy myself.” 

Hiver, crafty and unprincipled, gave him many 
useful hints as to the course to be pursued, and placed 
him in a safe position in regard to the succession. 
Poor Stamps! he was overjoyed; and felt as if he 
owned all Louisiana. He stood on the guards, and 
every now and then asked Talbot in a loud voice, 
“ Is our plantation any thing like that one?” pointing 
to some handsome residence. This mortified Talbot 
excessively, who took Stamps aside, and represented 
to him the ridicule to which he was exposing himself. 
Stamps promised amendment; and kept his word 
while Talbot was present; but as soon as he had 
walked off*, he was describing our plantation to a com- 
pany of strangers, and gave many an invitation to 
stop. He grew very vivacious, drank freely, and 
every stranger who would drink with him shared his 
generosity. He even got down among the deck 
hands, and treated several of them. 

At last the well-known place was brought in view, 
and Talbot felt some queer emotions, which he could 
not account for. 

Upon reaching the plantation, Talbot took posses- 
sion, and installed himself in the dwelling. It was 
evening, but the overseer at once dispatched a mes 
Bcnger for Mr. Herndon ; who came at the summons, 


252 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


aRd proceeded to the house. In the gallery he met 
Talbot, whose countenance fell when he saw him. 
There was evident restraint on his part, when he 
greeted Herndon, whose lip was compressed, and 
whose brow lowered. He was at first furious; but 
upon second thoughts, he calmed himself as well iis 
he could, 

“Mr. Talbot,” he observed^ after a long silence; 
“ I learn that you come to take possession of this prop- 
erty ?” 

“ That was my intention, sir,” he answered, but in 
evident agitation. 

“ It appears that you are acting under advice, sir. 
I presume that you come prepared with ample proof 
that you are really the relation of Colonel Ormond ?” 

“ He was my cousin, by my mother’s side,” he 
answered, averting his eyes ; “ he always acknowl- 
edged me as his relation, and I do not see that any 
one is caded to dispute it.” 

“ Sir,” replied Herndon, sternly ; “ I was the dear 
friend of Ormond ; we were more than usually inti- 
mate. I loved him; a nobler or purer man never 
lived. If you are the relation of my deceased friend, 
you must substantiate that fact ; and, sir, until you do, 
you can not claim any thing here. If you ever do 
own a slave on this place, you must do it under the 
sanction of the law ; and, if you try to take any advan* 
tage of your situation, you shall answer to me per- 
sonally.” 

“ I will protect the interests of my client,” exclaimed 
Hiver. 

“ And who the deuce are you, sir ?” asked Herndon, 
with a glance of supreme disdain. 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


253 


‘‘ I am the attorney, sir, of my friend, Mr. Talbot, 
who has done me the honor of selecting me from the 
bar of New Orleans ; and we desire nothing but what 
\B fair and right.” 

“ I will see that you have it, sir.” 

‘‘ The children of Colonel Ormond can not inherii 
—they are illegitimate; and, if you examine the law, 
you will find that I am correct. At least, we will try 
it on that ground, for they never have been acknowl- 
edged. They can not even claim alimony ; and, if re- 
port speaks true, they could not inherit even were there 
no legal heir — they have never been even emancipated.” 

I am obliged to you for your information,” said 
/ Herndon, bitterly ; I do not know if it is as you 
represent ; but I will know. I am aware that Ormond 
left here for the purpose once ; and I assure you that 
I will move heaven and earth to see the orphans 
righted. I advise you, Mr. Talbot, to be very cautious 
in your actions ; for this matter has to be taken into 
court; and I shall contest your claim.” 

“ We do not fear you on a fair trial,” said Hiver ; 
“ and we defy you or any one else to uptrip us.” 

‘‘ Did 1 speak to you, sir?” replied Herndon, casting 
a withering look of rebuke and contempt, upon the 
abashed lawyer ; who timidly stammered, “ N — n — no 
sir.” 

Well, then, wait until I do. Mr. Talbot, I see you 
have had advisers. I shall not take any advantage of 
you ; and I only hope, if you are successful in defraud- 
ing the orphan children of youT benefactor, that you 
will, at least, act magnanimously.” 

Talbot was about to reply, when Hiver quickly in- 


254 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


t^jrposed, No — no, sir 1 I can not allow my client to 
commit himself in any manner.” 

“ Miserable puppy 1” cried Herndon, his eyes shin- 
ing like those of an enraged tiger, “ I have half a mind 
to kick you from the gallery. If the man had a noble 
thought, you would blight it with your poisonous 
breath.” 

“ If you were to offer violence to me, I would com* 
mence an action against you.” 

“Confound your action,” he answered, “keep si- 
lence in my presence.” 

“ Mr. Talbot, you can not remain here, as you ought 
to have known. I will not have the dwelling of my 
friend polluted and even the sound of your blackguard- 
ism, echoing over his newly made grave.” 

“ Mr. Herndon,” he answered at a wink from Hiver, 
“ I desire nothing but justice ; if I gain the case, no man 
shall reproach me for a want of generosity. I lov^cd 
Ormond, and the tears I have shed are not few. I 
shall take no liberty but with your consent. I will 
quietly remain here until the decision of the suit, if 
there is one commenced ; but I believe you will think 
better of it ; you are much mistaken in me, sir.” 

“ God grant it,” he said fervently, “ the law will de- 
cide it, but as for staying here^ that is out of the ques- 
tion. Why, the very corpse of Ormond would rise and 
walk in its shroud, o.t such desecration ; no, sir, you 
must leave here in the morning.” 

Having spoken this with a determined air, he step- 
ped from the gallery, mounted his horse, and rode 
away with dignity. 

“ There goes a determined fellow,” said Hiver, “ and 
one who should be propitiated ; but we are safe, and he 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


255 


Anows it. When a man begias to talk of a compro 
mise, and being generous, his case is bad.” 

“ Well, all I hate is that we have to leave such com- 
fortable quarters.” exclaimed Stamps, where in thun- 
der can we stay ?” 

‘‘Down at ,” replied Talbot. “I tell you, I 

^an’t enjoy myself here now. I am all the time think- 
ing how often I have seen Ormond here in this gallery, 
and I almost expect to hear his voice every moment 
now. I can see him all the time, as he used to look ; 
and, when Herndon spoke of bis walking in his shroud 
the very flesh crept on my bones. No, no, we will go 
down to in the morning, and get a good comfort- 

able place to stay until we get the letters.” 

“ And then take possession,” said Hiver, “ that ’s the 
way to do it.” 

A walk was now proposed over the estate. We will 
not attempt a description of the feelings of Talbot, as 
they roamed over the wide domain, and viewed the 
fields of waving cane, the product of which might be 
all his own. He remembered when he first came, a 
beggar, now in a situation to dispute possession. 

“ Truly this is a splendid property,” exclaimed 
Hiver, as they once more entered the yard on their 
return ; “ and one to battle bravely for.” 

Each echoed the sentiment. 

Upon the death of Ormond, all the servants about 
the house had been placed in the field, except old Syl- 
via., Marie’s nurse, and a few ancient negroes in the 
Quarter. Eobert was now sent back, to pay attentioii 
to the self-made guests, and prepare for them. 

It was night, and the three friends were sitting in 
the parlor ; lights were brought in^ and after the meal 


256 


THE OBEOLE OEPHANS. 


was over, which none enjoyed, they again returned to 
the room. There was a strange uncomfortable sensa 
tion about the guests, that they could not shake off; 
every thing seemed so cold, dead and silent ; so un- 
like what would be expected to be the feelings of an 
heir, just taking possession of a splendid estate. 
Around Talbot’s heart, there was a cold, dead weight 
clinging as if the icy hands of the departed encircled 
it, compressed it, and was stopping its pulsations. He 
wished that it was daylight. 

“ Well if this house is not haunted,” exclaimed the 
lawyer ; “ I never could believe I could be so singularly 
affected.” 

All confessed to the same feeling. 

“ Robert,” asked Talbot, “ is there not some kind of 
spirit here ?” 

“ Yes, sir, plenty of it.” 

“ Then let us have some, my good boy.” 

The servant retired, and in a few minutes, entered, 
bearing a decanter. Stamps took it, and was about t<j 
fill a glass when, he suddenly exclaimed, “It i» 
blood.” 

The shock to all three was so great that they sprang 
to their feet, and remained looking in each other’s faces 
in alarm. 

“ What is it ?” asked Hiver, taking the decanter, 
“ Why it is brandy only.” No one spoke and none 
could drink. 

Talbot walked out to the gallery. He had noticed 
that he had seen nothing of Pierre since his arrival, 
and he was now wondering where he was, as he stood 
leaning against the hand-rail at the end of the house. 
As he remained in that position, musing with his eyes 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


257 


cai3t toward Ormond’s grave, a shudder passed over hia 
frame. At this moment he fancied he observed a move- 
ment in the shrubbery near the gate. Timid as well as 
very suspicious, he was about to withdraw, fearing he 
haidly knew what, when he heard a low whistle in 
the direction. He watched closely, and was about to 
retreat hastily when he heard his own name pro- 
nounced in a whisper. Surprise for a moment rendered 
him motionless ; but he thought an instant, and then 
in a low tone asked. 

“Who is there?” 

“ Me/’ was the reply. 

“ And who is me 

“ Pierre.” 

“ Oh, Pierre ; where did you come from, Pierre ?” 

No answer was returned ; but the speaker advanced 
from the shadow of the evergreens, and softly came to 
where Talbot was standing. He drew close up to him 
and pulling a package from his bosom, the same he 
had stolen from his master’s cabinet, as we have de- 
tailed, placed it in Talbot’s hands. Just then Stamps 
came out, and with a spring Pierre threw himself over 
the hand-rail, and disappeared in the darkness. Tal- 
bot hastily concealed the package in his bosom. 

They all retired, but not to sleep. Hiver, to study 
and dream of the fat fees he saw in prospect. Stamps 
fell that he had got a home at last, and so that he had 
his necessary wants supplied, and his passions grati- 
fied, he cared for little else. 

No sleep visited the couch of Talbot. He had a 
room to himself, and when he had undressed he hung 
his clothes over the keyhole of the door, and drawing 
close the shutters, sat himself down to study. He 
17 


268 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


dared not open the package, "he feared a dreadful revo 
lation, lie knew not what; he picked up a prayer- 
book and turned over the pages. He started with 
horror — there, in the well-known hand of Ormond, 
were these words in pencil, written on the margin of 
the page — “ My days are numbered, I am alone. Into 
Thy hands I commit my orphan children. Wilt Thou 
protect them^ oh, OodP^ 

Feelings of terror took possession of his mind, and 
he shuddered as he thought of the wronged Ormond. 
This was then the room in which he died. Mayhap 
Lis spirit was then hovering over him, with vengeful 
looks and fearful warnings. Had the Almighty thus 
guided him to view the enormity of his villainy ? He 
was almost tempted to resign all claim to the estate, 
and act the honest man ; but then thoughts of the 
broad lands, with the teeming fields, which might be 
b1\ his own for the extending of his hand and grasp- 
ing them, came across his mind, and he arose, shook 
off his fears, and smiled at his own cowardice. He 
grasped the packet ; he determined to know the wo^^st. 
He examined the address ; he tore off the cover, and 
found a letter addressed to Zoe and Estelle. With 
nervous agitation he opened it, and there drank in 
with eagerness its contents. There were burning elo- 
quence and pathos in its tone, deep and feeling; there 
were sorrow and agony portrayed in those lines. 
Here Ormond appealed to his children by the memory 
of their parents, by every tie which was held sacred, 
by a voice from the grave, to so act that no blqt should 
ever come on their name. There he laid bare their 
mother’s unhappy career, and he closed with the 
crowning deed, which emancipated them from the 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


269 


ban which had hung over them. Talbot was thunder 
stricken, he trembled with terror, the paper fell from 
his nerveless grasp upon the floor, he seized the other 
package. There he found a confirmation of the fears 
which the other had excited. Inclosed were all the 
papers which had been obtained in Martinique, not 
even excluding the marriage certificate and a copy of 
the declaration of the dying woman who had so long 
acted as Marie’s aunt. He sat like one stupified ; he 
felt that he was on the brink of a fearful precipice, 
and closed his eyes; he dared not gaze over, for black- 
ness and death were beneath him. He looked up; 
his eyes strained in fright. Leaping from his seat, he. 
paced the room violently, he gasped for breath, he 
dared not think ; turn where he would, the form of 
Ormond stood before him ! There, with his great 
mild eyes, he stood the very incarnation of sorrow. 
The form paced the room by Talbot’s side, and gazed 
sadly and reproachfully at him ; then, assuming a 
threatening aspect, the orbs seemed to grow larger, 
and bloody with rage. Again the shape would change, 
and with glaring eyes and gnashing teeth, with revenge 
and hatred speaking in its hideous countenance, the 
fiend stood before him. There was the eye, emitting 
coruscations of flame, the sarcastic grin, and the deep 
malice of the infernal being, all before him, all palpa- 
ble, all expressed. The frightened wretch sunk upon 
his knees, and in trembling agony exclaimed, God 
gave me!” Ho opened his eyes ; he was alone; he 
looked shuddcringly around ; his flesh still crept, and 
his heart beat faint and slow. With a desperate energy 
given by despair, he hastily gathered together the 
papers which lay scattered over the floor, and not 


260 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


even opening one which was addressed to Herndon, 
riLshed to the fire-place. There was no fire in the 
liearth ; it had been carefully cleaned and whitewashed 
since the funeral, but he took the candle, and applied 
the light to the mass. He watched the flames as they 
curled around the last words of the noble Ormond, 
and smiled with a devilish satisfaction when he saw 
the latest spark die out, and the whole sink to a heap 
of black cinders. He deliberately gathered them up, 
and dusting the remainder off with his handkerchief, 
went to the window. Fool I he had humt only copies 
of the orwinals. 

Here, I consign you to the winds of heaven,” he 
said. “ 1 defy you to return in any shape to inform 
on me. I am safe, safe, now I” 

A deep groan answered him. He started wildly, 
and hastily looked around. 

“ I certainlj^ heard something,” he exclaimed, anx- 
iously. “ Or can it be my imagination ? Cursed fool I 
was, to be frightened by a sound so trivial. Mayhap 
this is what they call conscience^ 

He then sat down, and as he thus reclined, his 
brain conjured up phantoms. Again the stately form 
of Ormond stood before him. 

“ Can this be reality ?” asked he, as he closed his 
eyes, and, opening them again, found the specter oe- 
fore him still. This time the face wore an expression 
only of rage and vengeance; the brows were con- 
tracted, and the lurid light which shot from the eyes 
seemed to shed a lambent and unearthly glow, like a 
halo, around the figure. The winding-sheet hung 
loosely from its form, and the phantom slowly raised 
the right hand in a threatening attitude. Talbot’s 


tiiE CREOiiE OilPHAl^S. 


261 


straining eyes were riveted upon tbe fearful form ; his 
pulse seemed to cease to beat; a cold perspiration 
broke out over his body ; his hair bristled ; he tried 
to avert his eyes, but they were fascinated by the stu- 
pefaction of horror. An owl sat near the window in 
a tree the messenger-bird of Death ! whose voice of 
doom 

“ Tells of the shroud, and the cold damp tomb,. 

Where festering corpses lie.” 

Talbot sat still — 

“ With listening ear, and bristling hair, 

And blood in his veins that froze ; 

Like a voice of doom, through that silent room. 

An ominous sound arose, 

A blended cry of wrath and woe. 

With anguish keen and fell. 

Like the wail of a soul in the pit below. 

Condemned to the nethermost helL” 

As the sound arose on the midnight air, and the 
flesh shrunk and quivered in terror, he sprang to the 
door, and, hastily unlocking it. rushed from the room, 
alarmed and nearly bereft of his reason. Stamps, 
alarmed also by the sudden intrusion, as Talbot 
bounded into the room, leaped out of bed, and began 
to call aloud. This awoke Hiver, who had dropped 
03 * asleep ; he ran to the window and tried to throw 
it up, but the sash, being fastened down with a spring, 
defied his utmost efforts. He then sought to find the 
door, but stumbled over a chair, and fell headlong on 
the floor. This added to the alarm of the others, who 
feared a new irruption, and commenced crying out in 
concert. Hiver, finding matters in this fix, sneaked 
under the bed. 


262 


THE CREOI.E ORPHANS. 


“ Is tliis you, Billy ?” cried Talbot, as he seized him 
by the leg. 

Yes ; is that you, Tolly ?” 

Yes.” 

What is the matter ?” 

Oh ! the devil is come, Billy !” 

The devil he has ! where is he ?” cried Stamj.«, 
who, now that he had time to become cool and thor 
oughly awakened, regained his courage. 

“ Oh ! he is in the other room, Billy 1” 

“ There is a light there !” 

“ Yes, yes : shut the door.” 

“ Tollj^, it ^s my opinion that you are a cursed cow- 
ard. What ! run from the devil when you had a can- 
dle in the room ? I ’ll go and see the old fellow 
and here he sprang off the bed, and walked into the 
room. 

“ Well, Tolly,” he exclaimed, as he returned with 
the light, “ he ’s gone, and I don’t believe a word you 
say” 

‘‘ I ’ll swear I saw and heard him.” 

“ Pshaw ! fal de lal ! all gammon !” 

“ I ’ll tell you what,” cried the lawj^er, poking hig 
head out from the bed, where he had sneaked when 
Stamps had gone for the light, “ you both came mighty 
near catching it. I heard the noise, and was about to 
fire, when I distinguished your voices. As for myself, 
I never became alarmed. I am the coolest mai. you 
ever saw.” And with this valiant lie in his mouth, he 
pulled the cover over his head, and addressed himself 
to sleep. 

Indeed I” answered Stamps, laughing ; “then per 


TBtE CREOLE* ORPHANS. 


263 


haps yo-a will go and take Tolly’s place in the other 
room, and let him have your bed ?” 

“Thank you!” muttered Hiver, from under tke 
bed-oloth^«; “ not any.” 


CHAPTEK XXin. 


“ O, coward conscience, how dost thou affright os I" 


rnilE next morning, after breakfast, our three frivadii 
reluctantly left the dwelling, and proceeded to the 
parish* town, which was the seat of justice. Talbot 
formally petitioned for the administration of the es- 
tate of’ Colonel Ormond, when tliey learned that Mr, 
Herndon had been on the same errand ; to which they 
QQade an objection filed in writing. This was done by 
the advice of Hiver, who was confident of his rejec- 
tion by the judge. There remained nothing now to do 
but to take matters quietly until the expiration of the 
ten days authorized by law. Hiver, in the mean time;, 
remained with Talbot. They occupied a room at the 
principal hotel, where thev formed ^acquaintancea, 
hunted, and fished in the surrounding country, and 
sought to gain friehds and popularity. 

The ten days expired, and an early day was set for 
the hearing of the rival claimants. They were all 
there, at the office of the judge, and, as they sat, 
anxiously awaiting the commencement of the case, 
Mr. Herndon rode up. He was very pale and stern, 
and spoke to all with a subdued gravity. The case 
came on, and was argued at some length by the coun- 
sel. It was contended that there was no positive evi- 
dence to show that Talbot was Ormond’s relative. Tlf 


tHE Oreole orpha:^s. 26 a 

this, Hiver replied that he, Ormond, had always ac 
knowledged him as a relation, and that, as the neareyj 
collateral relative, in default of any claimant in the 
direct line, his client was entitled to the administrator- 
ship. He then called on several persons, and Mr 
Herndon himself, who, on oath, testified to the accu- 
racy of the statement. It went very hard with the 
j udge to make the decision, but he was compelled to 
set aside the claims of Herndon, and Talbot was in- 
formed that he should administer the estf a 

Great were the congratulations whic . Hiver and 
Stamps showered on Talbot, who took ii ;rery calmly. 
The next thing to be done, was to give the requisite 
security. This was easily done ; for du .ing the week 
previous, Hiver had so represented the matter, as to 
actually interest the sympathy of several persons in 
the town, who, when the bond was given, walked in 
without scruple, and signed it. 

Thus much was completed, and nothing now re- 
mained to be done, but to have an inventory taken of 
the estate. The appointment of Talbot anno3’ed Mr. 
Herndon considerably. He went to the city, and con 
suited distinguished counsel. They could give him n(' 
hope, unless he could prove Talbot to be an impostor. 

This he could not do, as he was well aware that 
Ormond had always recognized, and introduced him as 
a relative, and therefore he was entitled to the adminis- 
tration. Herndon was almost outdone, and he turned 
his face homeward with a heavy heart, to await pa- 
tiently news from the only one living who could set 
the matter at rest. This was Dr. Grant. 

The season sped on, and Talbot removed to the 
plantation permanently. Hiver returned to his busi* 


266 


THE CREOLE 01lTHAI^&. 


ness in the city for tlie time. The newly installed 
gentler). ' 171 ^ with his ma?!, gave dinner-parties and wine- 
parties, or discharged one overseer and engaged an- 
other. Old Pierre was his right-hand man, but he 
was made to know his place ; for Talbot felt tolerably 
certain now, that when the tug of war came, he would 
be pronounced the lieir ; and he had no more use for 
Pieire. He tried to gain popularity. The neighbors 
came, and enjoj^ed his hospitality; they went away 
with a secret feeling of dislike. There was a something 
— a feeling of restraint apparent in all their actions ; 
not that frank and open-hearted demeanor which 
comes from a warm welcome, as in times of old. They 
looked upon their host with suspicion and dislike, and 
he felt it, but determined to outlive prejudice. 

Stamps was in his glory : he drank and smoked 
with the guests, slapped them on the back, and called 
them “ mighty clever fellows.” He played whist, and 
related, much to the horror of Talbot, many little 
amusing passages from their lives, while clerks in the 
North. When the guests were gone, Talbot would 
take Stamps to task ; and, after a good lecture, he 
would promise to be more careful in future, and not to 
repeat the offense. 

“Your tongue will be your ruin, Billy,” he said, 
“ let our former life alone ; let it lie buried ; for there 
is nothing pleasant in the retrospect, and it only 
makes my visitors feel a contempt for you.” 

“Well, Tolly, I don’t mean any thing; but I feel 
BO good, to think I can do just as I choose, and that 
vre have got plenty without clerking , but I won’t do 
so any more, it' you will only give me a hint when 
you hear me going to do it.” 


THE CJREOLE OKPHANS. 26 ? 

It was now that Talbot thought it time to act in 
regard to Zoe and Estelle. He would have had him- 
self appointed curator ad bona to them, merely to 
keep tliem in his power, if he had not been afraid 
that by this act he would have made a tacit acknowl- 
edgment that the children had rights; and, if ihere 
were no tutor appointed, it would be presumptive evi • 
dence that they had no estate to administer. 

“You are right,’’ remarked Hiver; “let Herndon 
be appointed, if he will ; but your being tutor would 
prevent you from ever extending your claim over 
them ; for this may have to be done. You have got 
every point on your side now, but see that you don’t 
overreach yourself; for your claim and theirs must 
conflict. They will then be represented by a curator 
ad litem. No, sir! don’t you touch it. They may 
even be natural children, and obtain a good slice out 
of your estate.” 

It had got whispered around, somehow, that Talbot 
intended to contest the claim of the children through 
illegitimacy ; and curses loud and deep were uttered 
by the neighbors, when they thought of the orplian 
girls; but they were powerless, and could do nothing. 

Sometimes Talbot was determined on going on to 
Paris for the girls, marrying one of them, and then, 
feeling secure, set the world at defiance ; but he 
thought if he did, it would not agree with his contract 
with Stamps, who would cl^m the other ; and then 
he would have an equal right with him there. No I 
that would never do! He could never share that 
property with another. Besides, he had long deter- 
mined to get rid of Stamps ; he was an incubus on 
him, and no assistance whatever , but he intended to 


268 THE CilEOLE ORPHA^rS. 

Qse him soon, and was preparing himself. He sent 
funds to the Superior of the school, for Zoe and Es- 
telle, and wrote them a kind and feeling letter, with 
the information that he would ever provide for them. 
To the Superior, he mentioned that he would ere long 
dispatch a friend to Paris for his cousins, and that she 
must prepare to lose them. 

All this while Herndon was not idle — he waj 
making inquiries in every direction — and worked 
night and day for the benefit of the orphans. He, 
however, made no discoveries. He saw with pain 
that the fine property was diminishing in value, from 
mismanagement and from the incompetency of the 
overseer, whom Talbot had hired ; but he knew that 
he had no legal right to speak, and he could only sigh 
and wish for haj^pier days. 

He and others thought they saw in the fact that 
Talbot had not been appointed tutor for the girls, a 
disposition to defraud them entirely of their just rights, 
and he determined ere long, to himself apply for thp 
tutorship of the orphans. 

Talbot now occupied himself in riding about the 
plantation, and learning its duties. The negroes saw 
at first that there was a change coming over things; 
they missed the cheerful smile of their former kind 
master. They missed his gentle words — they missed 
many a holiday and little present. In their stead, 
there was the harsh voice of a frowning stranger; a 
round of unmitigated toil ; and no cheering words of 
kindness ever struck their ear. Where now were 
their Sunday sports and recreations? Gone! and in 
their place was a sullen, ragged, discontented group, 
lounging without soul or spirit in the sun. 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


269 


An important era in the life of Talbot now occurred. 
The account of the administration of the estate of 
Ormond was filed and homologated, and he was then 
discharged from the administratorship. Now was the 
trial of Talbot. He claimed the succession as the 
nearest heir-at-law; the proofs he brought up induced 
the same persons who had gone his security to still 
continue on his paper, and he became to all intents 
and purposes the presumptive heir. 

Talbot was now, we may sa}^, the lord of this 
princely estate. He had means at command, but was 
not satisfied. Nor was he happy. He was high up 
on the ladder of wealth, and could look down upon 
the world, as far as regarded gold, but the compli- 
ments of friends from the city, at his splendid re- 
unions, when the wine flowed, jests went forth, and 
the sound of music awoke the midnight air, and the 
smiles of beauty dazzled, made no cord vibrate in his 
heart. He was dissatisfied and unhappy. There was 
a vacuum in his breast which nothing could fill. He 
often saw the pale face of Ormond in his musings ; 
and the form of the gentle Marie, with her dark, sad 
eyes. He thought of their unprotected children. He 
felt that he was a villain, and that there must be a 
curse hanging over him. 

Since the discovery of the papers — and knowing 
that he was holding the property unjustly — there was 
a constant disquiet in his bosom. He imagined and 
felt that there was always danger of discovery ; and, 
although he would in calmer moments smile at his 
own terrors, and fondly solace himself with the idea 
that the secret was profoundly locked in his own 
bosom, and that no one living would ever take an in- 


270 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


terest in it to dispute the possession, there were times 
when he would tremble in every muscle, and the 
sweat would stand in great beads on his brow. Not 
that remorse ever touched his flinty heart. No! it 
was a constant fear of detection, which rendered his 
life miserable, and caused sleep to be a stranger to his 
pillow. He became more thoughtful and moody. 
He was often buried in long reveries. He was very 
irritable ; and never saw a party of gentlemen ap- 
proaching the house that he did not imagine they 
came to tell him every thing was known, and that he 
was lost. While in these moods, he resorted to the 
wine cup for solace. But as time passed on, and he 
was unmolested, his terrors were partly banished, and 
he began to fear less. As people began to treat him 
more cordially, he seemed to forget the circumstance 
that the one man who alone could wreck him, was yet 
on earth. 

He had for some time past intended to send to Paris 
for the girls; but for want of a proper person, he had 
delayed it. He would not send Hiver ; he was afraid 
to trust him. Stamps was too rough and uncouth ; 
and he doubted if he sent Stamps if he would ever 
find Paris ; but, believing that he, of all others, was 
the most devoted to his interests, he thought that by 
sufficient drilling he might be able to make him answer 
for an escort. He had noticed that Stamps was much 
less talkative in company than formerly, and seemed 
to try to adapt himself to his wishes more. So Talbot 
concluded to send his friend. He had in his conver- 
sations with him often hinted at it, and Stamps had 
expressed himself ready to go. He had gradually 
given him all the information in regard to the estate, 


THE CKEOLE ORPHANS. 


271 


and the situation of the orphans, whom he still pro 
tended to term slaves ; but he did not inform him of 
the discovery of the papers. No ! he kept that locked 
in his own bosom. That would be giving Stamps too 
great a hold on him ; and he intended to dissolve the 
connection between them when Stamps had returned 
from France. 

It was one evening when Talbot was riding through 
the field, Stamps was coming along behind. 

“Billy,” he said, stopping his horse; “ride up. 
You know,” he continued, “ that when you came up 
here, you agreed to go by my instructions, and assist 
me.” 

“ Well, I am willing to do so whenever you call on 
me.” 

“ Then, Billy, you know that it is impossible for me 
to leave home, and it will be necessary that you go to 
Paris, and come home with the girls. I would give a 
great deal to go myself, but I am so placed that I am 
compelled to remain to protect my interests; for you 
know I have many and watchful enemies abroad.” 

“ Just name your time. Tolly, and I will start,’ 
cried Stamps, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. 

“Very good, Billy, you’re a trump; we must gel 
j ou ready in a few days.” 

At the end of the week they were sitting in the 
gallery waiting for a boat. He had duly lectured 
and warned Stamps, and repeatedly given him rules 
for his conduct. “ Now, Billy, listen 1 I believe with 
the advice I have given you, that you can go and 
acquit yourself very well. You are going upon a 
mission of peculiar importance, and it will require all 
your care and prudence. Here is a letter for the Lady 


272 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


Superior of the convent, notice the address ; and this 
one is for the girls. Here is one for Hiver, who will 
Bee you off, and this you must present to my merchant 
who will give you money for your journey. Now in 
addition to what I have said, I will add : be prudent, 
do not talk too much, and when you do talk, donH talk 
about yourself y 

“ Now, Tolly, you need not fear for me ; lam not 
such a fool as I used to be.” 

“ I believe you, and all I want you to do is to keep 
your senses about you ; and Billy, as you value my 
friendship and my aid, treat the girls as a gentleman 
should ; do not take the slightest liberty by thought 
or word; think of them as my relatives, and deliver 
them to me safe and sound, and Billy, remember your 
oath,” 

Hold on, Tolly, enough ! you have said enough ; 
I will treat them as if they were my own sisters ; I 
would not break that oath for all you have got.” 

“Well, well! now go; remember me, any how, 
and my friendship, and return as soon as you can In 
that paper you will find some suggestions for your 
guidance which will be of use.” 

In the evening a steamer came, and Stamps was 
m route for Paris. 

Talbot was now alone for the first time. When 
night came he was afraid to sleep alone in the cham- 
ber, and a servant was brought in. He thought per- 
haps, that he had been stupid in sending Stamps upon 
so delicate a mission ; and as he lay and let his imag- 
inations excite him, he was almost resolved to recall 
his embassador ; but when the morning came, he 
thought better of it. It was a very great sacrifice that 


THE CKEOLE ORPHANS. 


273 


he made, in allowing any other than himself to go 
after the girls ; but there was no other he would trust, 
and he was afraid of he hardly knew what. He was 
not willing to leave home for any length of time ; he 
preferred, if there should any thing be discovered, to 
learn it at once, and be prepared for it by flight or 
otherwise, than for it to come upon him suddenly and 
paralyze him by its shock. 

To do the fellow justice, he really, when he had 
started Stamps to France, had no unmanly designs 
against the girls ; he merely wanted them out of his 
way, and was willing to settle on them an annuity, or 
alimony to be released from the fear which he ever 
felt. He looked upon them as an hinderance to his 
projects, and he determined when they came home to 
settle some small sum on them. He felt perfectly in- 
different to their persons, but then he had not seen 
them for several years. 

When Stamps had been gone some two weeks, 
Talbot received a notice from the judge, convening a 
family meeting, for the purpose of appointing a curator 
to the girls. He hesitated when he received the proch 
verbal, and almost determined t#oppose it; he looked 
upon it as an infringement of his own rights, an inter- 
ference in his aftairs ; but when he remembered the 
advice of Hiver, he then concluded to let Herndon l>c 
appointed. He therefore signed the petition, asking 
for the appointment of Herndon, to the latter’s great 
surprise. 

Stamps had now been gone about three weeks, and 
no change had occurred in the state of affairs. It was 
evening ; Talbot had just rode in the yard from the 
sugar-house. Pierre had been sent to town for a bar 

J8 


274 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


rel of whisky for the negroes, and was very drunk; 
he had broached the barrel as he came along, and 
drank very freely of the liquor. He was cursing and 
grumbling in an outrageous manner. 

Talbot was provoked, and ordered him to be silent 
This incensed Pierre the more, and Talbot struck him 
with his riding- whip, as he again commanded him to 
cease. 

‘^You ain’t nothing but a upstart, no how; you 
ain’t no gentleman any way, and dere ain’t a nigger 
on dis plantation but tink so, and wish you was at de 
debil, for you ain’t no right here no how.' 

Foaming with rage, Talbot rushed at him and struck 
him over the head and face with his whip again. 
This had no more effect than if he had beaten one of 
the live oak-trees in the yard, and Pierre redoubled 
his abuse. Talbot was frantic, and literally danced 
over the yard in his frenzy. The overseer was com- 
ing through the Quarter at the moment ; and, while 
he was looking around in speechless rage, his eye fell 
upon the overseer. 

Here, here, come here I come over this way a mo- 
ment, Mr. Grambol” 1ft shouted, hoarsely, and. bring 
your whip along.” 

The overseer hitched his horse to the fence and 
came quickly into the yard. 

“What’s the to-do, Mr. Talbot?” he asked. 

“ Take that fellow ! strip him, and give him two 
hundred; the infernal old reprobate.” 

“ Here, sir ?” asked the overseer. 

“ Yes, sir, right here ! put him down I” and here he 
seized Pierre by the collar and pulled him forcibly 
down, despite his struggles. He was soon stripped 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


275 


Crack ! went the lash, with a shriek and a curse from 
Pierre; tlie whip swung through the air, and the 
blood soon begun to die the grass. Pierre was silent : 
the overseer tired not, and every time the whip de- 
scended, it peeled the flesh from his back. 

The overseer looked at Talbot, who shook his head, 

Keep on sir, till I order you to stop.” Again the 
whip came down, and again the flesh quivered and 
shrunk ; but the negro with fixed eye and closed teeth 
groaned not ; he was perfectly sobered, but still he 
complained not. At length Talbot exclaimed, 

“ There, that will do, you can let him up now, sir 
he added, as the bleeding negro arose : that will teach 
you a lesson, and the next time you are impertinent 
I will put you down and beat you with a red hot hand- 
saw.” 

“Mr. Talbot,” answered Pierre, as he gathered his 
garments around him, “ my old massa dat ain’t hardly 
cold yet, never hit me a lick in his life, nor his father 
before him; 1 made you what you is, and now I will 
unmake you.” 

This was said gravely, and even with dignity ; but 
there was a fiendish glare in his eyes as he spoke. 

Talbot cursed him, and turning off, asked the over- 
seer in to take a drink of brandy. He treated the 
threat of Pierre lightly, but had he known the mali- 
cious, treacherous, and revengeful nature of a Zambo 
negro, he would have trembled in his shoes. 

^Vhen the next sun shone in the east, Pierre was 

• • 

nought for but could not be found ; he had run away 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


“ Ifer iorrow made her beautiful ; a pity ’tls that all could not beconw it lOt’* 

TT was an evening of surpassing beauty. In a cell in 
the Convent of Mercy, at a window which over- 
looked the Seine, and nearer still, a parterre, which was 
filled with blooming exotics ; sat a lovely girl of about 
eighteen. She was gazing intently toward the river ; 
but her eyes were red with weeping. She heard not 
the noise of the million, nor saw the moving panorama 
of life spread out before her. No, those dark, sad 
eyes were filled with tears. She was a lovely being ; 
her face was a true oval, and her features faultless. 
One almost believed, as he gazed into those expressive 
and melancholy eyes, that the Virgin lived again. Her 
hair, was dark and glossy, and arranged in smooth and 
simple bands around her classic head, and suited well 
her complexion, which was a pure olive. She was an 
almost matchless being, full of grace and beauty, and 
one to be cherished and loved. 

There was another person in the room. She was 
also beautiful, but her beauty was of a different style. 
She waB fairer than the other, but the same features 
which marked her companion, distinguished her. In- 
deed, one could not but know that the ties of sister- 
hood existed between them. Is it necessary to call the 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


277 


^inmes of Zoe and Estelle. Does not tlie dark,^ rich 
tint of the skin, and the large, mild eye, the sweet, 
calm smile lingering around the mouth, and the happy 
expression of countenance, denote the parentage. Yes, 
they are indeed our young friends, whom we left 
bright and sunny little fairies, now grown up into two 
noblo and beautiful beings. 

It was Zoe who sat at the window ; it was she whoso 
eyes were fixed upon the moving mass below ; but 
her soul drank in nothing present ; she was abstracted ; 
her thoughts were far away, in the land of her nativity, 
in her own dear Louisiana, where laid the bones of 
her parents. 

Estelle was seated at a low table a few steps off with 
an open letter spread out before her ; the crystal drops 
falling thick on the page. It was the letter of Mr. 
Herndon announcing the death of their father. 

In this position each remained some minutes, until 
at length she arose, and walked toward the window. 
She dropped down on a seat near her sister ; and throw- 
ing her arms around her, exclaimed as the tears stream- 
ed down her face. “ Oh, sister, God has forsaken us. 
Are we not wretched. Father, mother, both. It seems 
but a month since the letter came with that black sor- 
rowful news. Our mother is gone forever ; her sweet 
quiet smile will welcome us no more ; nor will her 
pure bosom pillow our brows again. Now comes this 
horrible news, the last and most tremendous misery. 
Oh, is it not terrible. I shall go mad and here her 
emotions became so powerful that she was unable to 
say more. 

Zoe tried to comfort her ; but her own heart was 
breaking. 


m 


THE CilEOLE ORPHANS* 


Estelle raised her- head. 

“Oh, sister, I know what you would say, but com 
fort can not be given. We are alone, we are unpro- 
tected. Oh, who will be our friends. Oh, father, 
mother,” she said, falling on her knees, “ if your pure 
spirits are permitted to descend and watch over your 
poor orphans, oh, stoop your golden wings from heav- 
en, come to us in spirit, and bear our prayers to oui 
Holy Mother. Oh, parents in bliss, by the memory 
of those innocent and happy hours, by your love on 
earth, forget us not, be with us, and cheer us in this 
our dark hour of affliction.” 

“ Come, dear Estelle,” interrupted Zoe, who was fear- 
ful that such an excess of emotion would unsettle her 
reason. “ Cheer up, do not give way to these terrible 
feelings — do for my sake, try and compose yourself.” 

“Ah, sister,” she answered, wildly, “for your sake; 
and you are all that is left now to the heart-broken 
Estelle. But what have you or I to live for now ? we 
are friendless orphans. 

“Sister, you are wrong ; we have a friend, and oh, 
such a friend. He is great and powerful ; he can bid 
the angry sea be still, and its waves sink into peace. 
He, our great Father, the orphan’s friend, He will 
protect us. Estelle, sister,” she continued, as she raised 
her streaming eyes to Heaven, while a holy light 
seemed to irradiate her countenance, “ when we were 
little children, and about leaving home, our mother 
said : Zoe, you are the elder, love and cherish your 
sister, she is young, teach her to love God, as I have 
taught you, and never close your eyes without invok- 
ing the blessing of God. Sister, I have taught — I 
have loved you. I love you, and our mother looks down 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


279 


from Heaven, and smiles with joy. Sister let us ask 
that friend to bless, and to succor us in our sorrow.” 

Here she took Estelle by the hand, and they both 
kne/t down. There, amid the din and noise of the 
great city, the Almighty heard the orphan’s cry Like 
the vibration of the wings of an angel, tremulous like 
the rays which fall from the sacred lights of heaven, 
did this pure and holy offering, ascend to God. Earn- 
estly and with faith, did she send forth her humble 
supplication. And it was heard in Heaven. 

They arose. As Zoe had supposed, her sister was 
calm, it was the sacred tranquillity of pure faith, the 
trust in a Great Watcher over all, who notes every 
thing ; whose ears are ever open to the call of the af- 
flicted ; and without whose knowledge not even the 
breath which rustles the summer leaves arises. That 
Being who knows the fallacies of the human heart, and 
who is never deaf to the cry of the widow, and the 
orphan. The injured and the calumniated, the bruised 
and heart-stricken may come to Him, and find a sure 
friend, one who never tires, nor turns away when the 
soul is wrung with agony, but whose hour of retribu • 
tion comes ; although it may to us seem retarded. This 
was ihe Friend of Zoe and Estelle. 

Just as Estelle was about to speak again, a gentle 
tap was heard at the door ; it opened, and a sister en- 
tered. She spoke to them kindly, and brought a mes- 
sage from the Superior, inviting them to come down 
and accompany her into the convent gardens. They 
kindly thanked her, and replied that they vrould join 
her as soon as they had arranged their dresses. 

The good Superior and ladies did every thing in 
their power to moderate the grief of Zoe and Estelle 


280 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


The rules of the convent were broken, as the reader 
will perceive, even by their having a separate room. 
Indeed they were uneasy on account of Estelle, who 
was nearly frantic with grief, and any thing which 
could divert her own and her sister’s minds from their 
sorrow, was eagerly tried. The girls were much be- 
loved in the convent ; both on account of their long 
residence, and for their inherent good qualities. 

It will be perceived that the letter from Mr. Herndon 
had been received. This was a week previously, and 
still the orphans wept. 

Talbot’s letter had also reached them — it only added 
to their grief. 

Sister,” said Estelle, while she was combing out 
Zoe’s wealth of raven hair ; “ is this person who is 
named Talbot, and calls himself our relative, the 
same man who used to be with us when we were 
young, and who taught us to draw and paint?” 

‘‘ Yes; he is the same, I think.” 

“Well, what has he to do with us? Is he our 
relative ?” 

“ He was introduced as such by our father, sister; 
but mother used to have an aversion to him, 1 think. 
At least, from all that I can remember now, sho never 
lilted him.” 

They descended to the Superior. 

Some days after this, the girls were sitting in their 
room. Several weeks had passed off since the last 
scene, and the first violent emotions of grief were sub- 
dued ; but, in it its place, a deep, pensive cast of silent 
sorrow remained, which dimmed the brightness of their 
eyes and paled their cheeks; but made them more sweet 
and interesting, if possible, than ever. They were 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


281 


sitting together, and engaged in some light embroidery ; 
their thoughts and their conversations were of their 
dear home beyond the sea. A sister entered. — “ Young 
ladies/' she said, “ the Superior sends for you in the 
library.” 

They arose, and followed her into the room where 
the mother was seated. Slie received them kindly. 
‘‘My children,” she said, when she had made them 
seat themselves before her; ‘‘the Holy Mother has 
heard your prayers, and sends you comfort.” 

“ What mean you, mother?” asked Zoe, anxiously. 

“ My daughter, you are to leave the convent, and 
return to your home in America.” 

“ Alas 1 madam, we have no home, said Estelle, 
sorrowfully. 

“You are mistaken, my child,” said the lady, 
kindly, “ You have kind friends and true ; and they 
long to welcome you to their arms.” 

“We know them not,” replied she. 

“ Be thankful, my children, that God has raised up 
friends for you; for, when you leave the peaceful 
shadow of these holy walls, your path will be beset 
with thorns, and trials, and temptations.” 

“ I would rather live in these walls than mingle in 
a world which can have no charms for me. The 
bright spots in my life would be but few. Here I 
could at least find peace.” 

“There are duties in life,” said the Superior, “ which 
we all have to perform. Go out and fill your ap- 
pointed mission ; if misfortune ever shadows you with 
its dark wing, here you will ever find a home.” 

“ Oh, mother I” exclaimed the impulsive Estelle, 
“ you are kind and good, and how can we leave you?” 


S82 THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 

“ The separation will cause me pain, but we must 
bow submissively to our duty. Come, we will go ; 
there is a gentleman waiting your appearance in the 
parlor.’* 

Oh, mother !” she exclaimed, much surprised^ 

“ Yes, my children, that as the cause of my sending 
for you. He is sent by a kinsman to protect you over 
the sea — ^to take you home.” 

A kinsman, mother?” 

“Yes, a relative of your father’s ?” 

“Oh, then we will go!” exclaimed Estelle, rising; 
“if he is like my noble father he is good and honor- 
able — he is pure. Come,” she repeated. 

“Nay, my child,” exclaimed the Superior, half- 
smiling at her earnest manner; “there is time, me- 
thinks. You are now eager to leave our protection.” 

“Not so, mother,” replied she, going to her side, 
and taking her hand, which she pressed to her lips. 
“Forgive my haste, but you know that your poor 
Estelle is almost crazy. You are a kind mother to us, 
and go where I will, there is a place in my poor heart 
devoted to respect and affection for you.” 

“ Heartily do I forgive you, my poor child ; you 
follow only the dictates of nature. God be with you I 
Come, we will go.” And so saying, she extended her 
hand to each, and walked toward the parlor. Quickly 
did their bosoms heave and their pulses beat, as they 
stood before the door. It opened. Sitting by a table, 
with his eyes fixed on a painting hung in the wall, 
was Mr. Stamps. He was vastly improved by travel, 
and dressed in the latest style. A thick mustache 
garnished his lip — the growth of weeks, and carefully 
nursed by him for the present occasion. Poor Stamps, 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


28 S 


he had been greatly annoyed. Although he had been 
in Paris a week, he had scarcely heard any word save 
the native language. It dinned in his ears, and con- 
fused his brain ; and, in tt'ying to imitate, he had 
almost forgotten his own tongue. He had founJ the 
convent on the second day, and had since been ])re- 
paring for the visit. He said to himself, “How will I 
ever know how to tell them what I want, when I get 
there? I can’t speak a word of French. Why was it 
that every body was not made to speak English?” 

A lucky thought struck him ; so, to a book-store 
he went, and there after an hour’s pantomime in broken 
English, an American stepped up and relieved his em- 
barrassment. He wanted a book of English and French 
conversations. This obtained, he set off to his hotel 
to study it. It was hard work ; for Stamps had never 
been used to a student’s life. He found a few sen- 
tences which he thought he could make use of. 

The time now came for him to use them ; his eyes 
were on them ; for they were written out and pasted 
in his hat. The Superior entered. He looked at her. 
The letters had been sent to her by a sister. His eyes 
were bent into his hat, for his French had oozed out. 
Suddenly he bounced up, as if on springs. 

“ Comment vous portez-vous^ madame /” he said, gasp- 
inglj. 

The lady bowed, coldly, and returned his salutatioiL 

This encouraged him, and he proceeded. 

“ Madame Supeneur^ vous avez mon httre 

“ Oui^ monsieur^ 

“ What shall I say next?” said the poor fellow, who 
now began to perspire. 

“ Ah^ madame^ je ne comprend votre langage dt Fran 


284 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


^is, M, Talbot desire Mesdemoiselles Ormond retowmeff 
a Louisiane, II very much miserel 

The lady smiled at the unHque compound, and turn ■ 
ing to her companion, said, 

‘‘ C'^est un zero, un vrai zeroT 

Then to Stamps she exclaimed, “ Monsieur, are you 
an American ?” 

‘‘Yes, madam,” replied he, promptly. 

“You can speak English, then?” 

“Like a hem! Oh! yes, madam.” 

“ Then you are the person who is sent to take 
charge of these young ladies ?” 

“Yes, madam. Their relative sent me; he wants 
to see his cousins mighty bad.” 

Stamps was taken aback and confused. He had 
expected, when he came to Paris, to see two ordinary 
Quadroon girls, who were to be placed far below his 
level, and one at least to be subject to his caprices. 
In their stead, he beheld before him two beings more 
ravishingly beautiful than he had ever dreamed, and 
before whom he felt humiliated. When he had in 
some measure recovered from his embarrassment, and 
the Lady Superior was conversing in a low tone with 
Zee, he asked, 

“ Madame, I presume the letters I brought are a 
sufficient guaranty of my authority, and will warrant 
you in placing the — the young ladies under my 
care ?” 

After some thought, the lady replied, “ There will 
be no difficulty, sir ; the young ladies will ao^ompany 
you.” 

“ That ’s it, madam. I knew you would say it was 
all right.” 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 286 

Will you be good enough to inform me, sir,’* 
asked she, “ who is appointed guardian to the young 
ladies ?” 

*‘Oh, madam!” he answered, hesitating; ‘‘oh I Mr 
Herndon and Mr. Talbot.” 

“ And this Mr. Talbot is a relative?” 

‘‘ Yes, madam, they know that ; a cousin of their 
father’s ’ 

Estelle would have asked many questions, but the 
Superior interrupted her. “You will have time 
enough to ask all the questions you can think of dur- 
ing the voyage. We must now separate. When will 
70U be ready to set out, sir?” 

“ That I leave to you, madam.” 

“ I am not your guide, sir.” 

“ Then, madam, in a week from to-day I will call 
again.” 

“ Very good, sir.” 

He bowed an adieu. 

It was several days before he could hear of a vessel 
leaving Havre for New Orleans, but at length he called 
at the convent, to say that on the next day he should 
leave. The Superior promised that the young ladies 
would be ready. 

The morning was cool, and day had scarcely broken, 
as Zoe and Estelle issued from the portal in tears. 
They felt as if they were leaving a home. Since they 
entered it, they had never been from under the keep- 
ing of the good sisters. They hung in tears on the 
neck of the good Superior, stepped into the carriage 
in vaiting, and were separated forever. To a dili- 
gence station they were driven, and when vehicles 
had been changed, were whirled away on the road to 


286 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


Havre. Zoe tiirred her head, and looked behind. 
The city was fast disappearing ; the steeple of Notre 
Dame and the cupola of the Pantheon were alone visi- 
ble ov^er the tops of the houses. 

Havre was reached. Again they are rocked upon 
he billows of the Atlantic, and, dove-like, are return- 
ing to their nest. But, oh ! the ruthless hand of the 
hunter has cut asunder the thread of life of the parent 
bird. They will reach the nest, and chirp in sorrow 
for it is desolate. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


• Irfjua spurns the worm, hut pauses ere he wak0 
The slumbering venom of the folded Snake. 

The first may turn, but not avenge the blow; 
The last expires, but leaves no living foe; 

Fast to the doom'd offender’s form it clings, 

And he may crush, not conquer — still it stings 1” 


The CoRSAn. 



E have seen the inconsiderate brutality of Talbct^ 


' ^ in punishing old Pierre so severely. He tried to 
banish from his breast a certain uneasy feeling. He 
knew that Pierre had in his keeping his honor, life, 
all. He had committed himself to the negro, and he 
well knew that there was no confidence to be placed 
in him ; but he thought that self-interest would 
keep him silent. He knew moreover that the negroes 
statement could not convict him ; but he felt that it 
might lead to. an unpleasant investigation, which would 
eventually result in a discovery. He spent an uneasy 
night, but came to the conclusion to seek Pierre in 
the morning, and make it all up. 

The overseer had been struck with the threat ma<le 
by Pierre, and it sunk deep into his mind. He felt 
that there was something behind ; but although he 
thought much, yet, as a prudent man, he kept his 
mouth closed. 

In the morning Talbot walked into the quaiter 
with the intention of seeking Pierre. No one had 


V 


288 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


seen him. Inquiry was set on foot, and it was found 
that Pierre had not even slept in his house during the 
night ; he had run away. 

Talbot was horror-struck ; he caused the overseer 
to take a party of negroes, to hunt the swamp thor- 
oughly ; he himself also went a different route ; he 
was now really alarmed, and rode hither and thither 
in a state of the greatest agitation. Dinner-time came, 
he rode up ; the overseer was standing in the yard, 
tired and covered with mud. 

‘‘ Have 3^ou found the old scoundrel?” he asked, in 
a tone of anxiety, which he tried to hide. 

‘‘ No, sir,” replied Grambo ; “ I ’ve been all over 
the swamp, and I can’t see hide or hair of him I 
Maybe he ’s gone and drowned himself.” 

“ A very good resolution, if he has.” 

When Pierre had made the threat to Talbot, he 
walked off* slowly and painfully. His soul was filled 
with a deadly rage : he had been beaten cruelly and 
inhumanly by a man for whom he felt a deep con- 
tempt — by a man whom he had the sagacity to know 
he had elevated to his present position by concealing 
papers of value. He had hoped to have been benefited 
by the change of owners ; but he found harder labor, 
woj'se fare, and worse treatment. He had often re- 
gretted that the part he had taken in it had raised 
Talbot to the situation he occupied ; and the present 
occasion was the mere igniting of the fuse to a mine, 
the explosive materials of which wxre already pre- 
pared. A long series of injuries and impositions had 
to be avenged. Some negroes would have sought a 
personal injury, for all are capable of it. Some would 
have fired the sugar-house ; and others concocted 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


289 


other injury. But Pierre, as we have seen, was no 
eommon negro : he was possessed of deep and subtle 
cunning. 

The reader is aware that he was what is termed a 

Zambo.” The Zambos are noted for a deep and 
ferocious subtilty; very deceitful ; inflicting injuries 
long after the cause has been forgotten, and when least 
expected. They are the descendants of the Mulatto 
and Zamho negro, and are known by their peculiarly 
black skins. Pierre was a real Zambo. He sought 
his cabin, lay down, and remained until late in the 
OA'ening. He lay plotting his revenge. 

It was long since dark. Suddenly he started up, 
anti limped sorely out. All was still. Sleep reigned 
o\iir all. He stood before his door, and looked with 
a gloomy and scowling brow toward the dwelling. A 
solitary light shone from a window. It was Talbot’s 
room. Deep and devilish thoughts were in the Zam- 
bo’s bosom. As he turned to go, a small dog, which 
generall3’’ followed, attempted to accompany him now. 
He tried to force it back, and still it persisted. With- 
out hesitating a moment, he reached his 'hand inside 
the door, near which stood his ax. He raised it, and 
inflicted a terrible wound on the poor animal, which 
crawled under the house, and died. 

Without a moment’s regret at the cruel deed, he 
strode forward as fast as the state of his lacerated 
body would allow. He jumped the fence, so as to 
hide his footsteps, and took his wa}^ through the cane. 
He went straight to Mr. Herndon’s plantation. 

Mr. Herndon had retired to bed, and was awakened 
by a tapping at his window. He arose hastily and 
went to the casement. 

19 


290 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


Who is that ?” he asked, looking down. 

‘‘ Me, sir — Pierre.” 

Pierre ! what are you doing here, sir ? Is an f 
thing wrong ?” 

It ’s all wrong, Mr. Herndon. Let me come in, 
sir, and I ’ll tell you something you would like to 
know.” 

Herndon thought a moment, for he knew how 
treacherous the negro was ; but at last said, “ Go to 
the side-door, sir.” 

Pierre disappeared, and Herndon took up his walk- 
ing-cane as he went to the door. 

“ Now, Mr. Herndon,” Pierre said, “ put me whar 
the other niggers won’t hear me, and I will talk.” 

^‘Come in here, then,” said Herndon, struck by the 
negro’s grave manner, as he led the way to his cham- 
ber, and shut the door. 

“ Now, what is it, sir ?” 

‘‘Well, Mr. Herndon, sir, ever since my master 
died, I have tried to please that man ; but now, sir, 
I won’t stand it no longer.” 

What do you mean, sir ? Do you come here with 
your complaints at this time of night, and expect me 
to interfere between your new master and you ?” 

“ He ain’t none of my master. Mr. Herndon, my 
back is cut deep, and the flesh is a-hangin’ in rags 
from it. That man, that calls me his nigger, had it 
done. Now, sir, I was a black rascal to do what I has 
done, and maybe, if I hadent a done it, he would n’t 
a bin thar.” 

“ Will you tell me what you want, you black old 
rascal? You are drunk, and have been whipped for 
some villainy, I suppose.” 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


291 


‘‘No, sir; I was put down this evening, and give 
three hundred licks because T got drunk.” 

“ Just as I supposed.” 

“ No, sir ; that ain’t all. I was drunk, and I was 
beat worse than a dog ; and now I come to tell you 
that I stole the paper.” 

“ What paper ?” interrupted Herndon, the truth 
now suddenly bursting on him ; and he turned pale 
with emotion. 

“ My master give me a paper when he was so sick, 
and says he, ‘ Pierre, when I am gone, take this paper 
from the cabinet, an’ give it to Mr. Herndon.’ Well, 
sir, Talbot had give me money often, and I spent it 
in whisky ; and he promised me more, and he made 
me steal all the papers I could find, and keep them for 
him. I gin him this ar one, and he is bin a lordin’ 
it over me ever sence.” 

“ Why did you not tell me this before, sir?” 

’Case I was afeard, and I thought I would n’t have 
no more work to do when he come thar ; but I has 
had harder work, and more starvin’ than I ever got in 
my life ; an’ I only wish I had my old master back 
agin.” 

For several minutes Herndon sat without speaking. 
A thousand conflicting thoughts passed through his 
mind. “Have I got the clew to this mystery,” he 
thought, “ or is Pierre deceiving me ?” He looked 
the black long and steadily in the face without speak- 
ing, and then cross-examined him again and agaia 
At last he spoke. 

“ You have run away, Pierre?” 

Yes, sir; and I ain’t a gwine back no more there.” 

“ Yes, but you must return.” 


292 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS, 


‘‘ That man will kill me, sir.” 

He will not, Pierre,’’ he said, looking at him fix- 
edly. ‘‘ If you are deceiving me, I will have you 
whipped ; but if it is true, and I can succeed in prov- 
ing it, I will give you your freedom ! Do you hear?” 

“ Yes, sir,” he answered. “I tell you, sir, ’cause I 
hates the upstart, as all the rest of ’em does ; and you 
can jest kill me if I lies.” 

“ Well, Pierre, you must go back, and act as if you 
had just been out in the cane. Go to Talbot, beg off, 
and promise not to do so again. Lay the fault on the 
liquor — you understand me? — and leave the rest to 
me. Will you do it?” 

Yes, sir. I can go back, and just do that way.” 

‘‘Pierre, keep your mouth shut. Do you hear? 
Act as if you had forgotten it all.” 

“ Mr. Herndon, I knows what you mean well, and 
you need n’t be ’feard of me. You must let me stay 
’bout here; I’ll go up in the stable loft, and lay there 
tell I git easy. I got some vittils here in my bundle. 
I’ll go back, sir.” 

“ That ’s it, Pierre ; but don’t let any of the negroes 
see you here.” 

“ No, sir ; I won’t.” 

The reflections to which this conversation gave rise 
in the breast of Herndon w'ere various ; but he was 
convinced of Pierre’s sincerity, for he had narrowly 
watched him while speaking, and saw a dogged reso- 
lution of revenge alone predominant. He felt that he 
had a clew, slight as it was, to the supposed neglect of 
Ormond. He imagined that he had taken a thread 
which would lead to the ejection of Talbot. The 
course to be pursued he left to fate ; but he determined 


TfiE CREOLE ORPHANS. 293 

to go to Martinique, to learn, if possible, if Ormond 
had married Marie, and if the children were legiti- 
mated. He scarcely had a hope of this ; but the idea 
was vivid and sudden, and he formed a resolution to 
penetrate to the bottom. 

Pierce remained in the straw in Mr. Herndon’s stable^ 
to ‘‘ make de search arter him more interesting’ as he 
said, and on the evening of the second day, about 
sundown, descended from his roost. The news quickly 
spread at Talbot’s, the next morning, that “ Pierre 
done come in.” Great was the delight of Talbot ; for 
he was much alarmed, and his constant anxiety of 
mind had thrown him into a fever. He felt that all 
the beautiful schemes he had built up were being 
undermined, and that all was a ruin ; all was lost. 
He felt like flying, and leaving the country, after 
securing a portion of the property. He even *armed 
himself, to be prepared in case of emergency. 

He was completely deceived by Pierre, who ex- 
pressed great sorrow for his late conduct, and prom- 
ised to get drunk no more. This at once satisfied 
Talbot, and he began to get easier and more content ; 
but he formed a resolution to put it out of the Zambo’s 
power ever to injure him. 

He now began daily to look for the return of Stamps 
with his charge. His face would flush, and a tremor, 
a strange feeling of excitement, would run through his 
frame, as he thought of having the girls in his power. 
He arranged a chamber for their accommodation, and 
bad concealed springs placed in the sashes to prevent 
their being raised. He, indeed, entered into the mi- 
mitiaa of arrangements with a feverish interest. 

Mr. Herndon left for the city in pursuance of hie 


294 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


purpose, and a few days after liis arrival there he was 
seeking a vessel bound for Cuba. The reader will 
remember that when Ormcmd determined to go to the 
West Indies, and Martinique was selected, Mr. Hern- 
don was present, and aware of the place of their desti- 
nation. He now took passage on a vessel fo/ Cuba, 
in the expectation of getting one thence for Marti* 
niqu^ 


CHAPTER XXVI 


** And the cypress lifted a blazing spire, 

And the stems of the cocoas were shafts of Are ; 

Many a white pagoda’s gieam 

Slept lovely round on lake and stream.” 

HEMANa. 

rpHE water in the Bay of Naples was still and mir- 
ror-like. A blue haze filled the atmosphere, and 
objects seen through it were mellowed and softened 
into a dreamy picture. The sky had no cloud, but 
was of that deep blue tint so peculiar to Italy. You 
could see through it further up into heaven than in 
our harsher clime. The lofty island of Capri, seen in 
the distance, appeared a fairy isle, floating in a liquid 
rarer than air. The city rose gradually, crowned by 
the hoary castle of St. Elmo. The hills in the rear of 
the city are covered with vineyards, villas and monas- 
teries. There is the Capo di Monti, and the monastery 
of San Martina, which crowns the hills, while behind 
is a range of wooded mountains. 

To the right may be seen Vesuvius, sending up a 
thin spiral wreath of smoke to heaven, while beyond 
all are dimly observed the summits of the Apennines. 

It was indeed a calm and bright day, such as this 
favored clime alone can boast. On the mole, leaning 
over and resting on an old gun, which was sunk into 
the quay for a post, was a handsome man, of appa- 


296 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


rently some forty years. He was gazing pensively 
over the bay, but whether his eyes were bent on the 
heights of Vesuvius, or on the white walls of Castel- 
mare, the old town of Sorrento, Tasso’s birthplace, or 
taking in the beautiful villas on the western shore, 
you could not tell. By and by he awoke as if from i 
dream, and his glance fell on the vessels in the harbor. 

“ At last,” he murmured. “ At last, I must return 
liome — to my dear home. I must mingle there with 
the world, a^ of yore. I must renew old associations, 
and make new friends. I must laugh and be gay, 
while my heart is buried with Caroline, under these 
summer skies. There are some few noble hearts left 
yet on earth ; there still is Ormond, generous and 
high-toned, self-sacrificing and pure. His heart will 
beat a throb faster when he sees his soul-weary friend. 
And you too, gentle Maria — well-named — pure and 
spotless, simple and true — you will welcome the 
wanderer home ; and, for the sake of the lost Caroline, 
give to him some portion of the esteem you felt foi 
her.” 

The speaker, as the reader has discerned, was oui 
friend. Dr. Grant. He had wandered hither and thithei 
since the death of his wife ; from Greece to Turkey ; 
from the sands of Palestine to the icy shores of the 
White Sea; from the wilds of Caucasus to the capitals 
of Continental Europe ; and now, exhausted and worn- 
out by excitement, which he had sought for, in the 
first instance, to dull the pangs of grief, now he had 
settled down into a calmer, a sadder, and a wiser man. 
He had come to Naples, and intended to embark for 
America, to spend the remainder of bis life among hia 
friends. 


'T&E CREOL^] ORPHANS. 297 

‘‘ Yes,’^ he continued, I will return at once to the 
land of my birth. All I love now are there, and they 
will sympathize with me, and cheer a broken heail.” 

Poor fellow, he little knew the tremendous change 
which death had made during his absence, in that 
dearly-loved circle, to which he was hastening. He 
little dreamed that death had come and made desolate 
that happy family home; that he himself was their 
destined avenger — an avenger in whom there was no 
pity, no relenting; and that he was hastening on, as 
remorseless as fate — to prevent a wrong — to rescue 
the orphan’s heritage. 

Dr. Grant remained in the posture we described, his 
thoughts wandering far over the sea, and his eyes 
fixed upon the waters of the bay, just now slightly 
sparkling in the' morning breeze. His attention was 
attracted by the Appearance of a young man, who was 
on the point of leaping from a boat which had just 
run her bow up on the sandy beach. There was some- 
thing in the figure, and in the attitude of the person, 
which struck him as familiar; yet he in vain conjec- 
tured whether they had before met. He was on the 
point of turning off toward the city, when the stran- 
ger’s voice reached his ears. He was giving the boat- 
man some orders respecting a bundle which contained 
his portfolio. The doctor paused, and kept his eye 
fixed on him as he advanced. His hair and eyes were 
piercingly dark , and his mouth and chin, even as he 
came, displayed energy in repose. He was an emi- 
nently handsome man ; and, as he walked, the sym- 
metry of his form could be observed. He spoke to 
his attendant; his voice was rich, deep, and flexible; 
it sounded like an old familiar tone ; like the house 


298 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


hold-music whicli passes tlirough the seaman’s brain 
when, rocked by the billows, he fondly dreams of 
home. That tone he had heard in happier days ; it 
was then not so rich — so mellow — and so manly ; yet 
it w^as the same. Grant shut his eyes; he was, in 
imagination, again by the side of Caroline, away by 
the cane-fields of Louisiana, listening to the song 
of the bird — the hum of the bee — the harping of 
heaven’s wind through the branches of the trees. 
The stranger passed him; his gaze, for the first time, 
fell on the doctor ; he stopped and hesitated ; then, as 
if reassured, he bowed slightly, and was about to pass 
on. He knew him not ; years had passed ; the head 
of the doctor bore white blossoms of the grave, and 
his dress was foreign ; but that slight look of interest 
and inquiry told him all. 

“ Hold !” exclaimed he. 

The stranger obeyed, and turned. Grant w\as at his 
side in a moment. The two stood mutely gazing into 
each other’s hearts, as it were ; then, as if by a simul • 
taneous impulse of recognition, they were clasped in 
each other’s arms. 

Dr. Grant !” 

“Louis Lamotte!” were the exclamations which 
passed ; and for a minute the only ones. 

We will not linger on the meeting; the thousand 
questions of interest asked and replied to by each in a 
short time. Any one who has been for years away 
from his home and fireside, a wanderer among stran- 
gers, with the burden of a broken -heart, will appreciate 
such feelings, at such a time; especially if suddenly 
meeting a dear and valued friend. But oh ! how keen 
was the angiv’sh of Grant, when Louis informed him 


THE CREOLE ORPHAlS^S. 299 

of the death of Marie ! How his heart swelled with 
grief, and how scalding was the tears which dropped 
on his young friend’s hand ! 

“ Tiainotte !” he exclaimed, brushing them away., 
‘‘ I thought I had done with this. Tears ! Why, I 
am as dry as a mummy. Well, God pity me ! Poor, 
poor, Ormond ! Your heart has bled like your friend’s. 
Now will I hasten to you the sooner for 3'our grief 
But Louis, my boy, what are you doing here?” he 
added, banishing with an effort those feelings. 

“ Why, doctor, the truth is, that a year ago J left 
the Polytechnique School, determining to see a little 
of the world. I always longed to visit this portion of 
it ; so, I left books and philosophy, and set off on foot 
with my knapsack and portfolio ; and, after being 
every where, I am here.” 

“ I suppose you saw Zoe and Estelle before you left 
Paris?” 

Louis blushed deeply at this question, and laughed 
in a confused manner. 

“I see how it is,” exclaimed the doctor, and I am 
glad of it; and I know that nothing would please 
Ormond more. Do you remember how I used to tease 
you about Zoe ?” 

‘‘ I remember all,” answered Louis, sighing. 

Oh, well, Louis, if the woman fulfills the promise 
of the girl, either of the sisters are worthy of the most 
devoted love, even of so gallant a fellow as yourself.” 

‘‘ I thank you, doctor ; but maybe Ormond may not 
think as well of it as you.” 

“ Never fear, Louis ; you are a favorite. But a 
truce to this. . Let us go to yonder open inn, and, I ’ll 
be sworn a glass of good Cypress will set us to riglits 


800 


TfiE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


I am quite choice in my drink now ; but I do not 
know how it will be when I return to the whisky of 
the Ohio. Come, that bunch of grapes ever the door 
is inviting — I feel a great change already in me at 
the sight of your face, albeit it is more manly than 
it was.” 

“lam with you,” said Louis. 

As soon as they were seated, the doctor drew his 
chair to the open window, and, putting his feet out of 
the latter, d VAmhicaine^ resumed the conversation. 

“Well, Louis, my heart yearns to revisit our Fa 
therland, .to look upon her tranquil shores, and see 
the broad bosom of the dear old muddy Mississippi 
once more. My future life can never be an un mixed 
stream of happiness ; yet I submit to the decrees of a 
fate I ran not avoid. 1 have at last concluded to re- 
turn. The poet’s idea is one that finds an echo in my 
heart • 


*' My dearest home I my childhood’s home I 
Beyond far fairer lands 

Thou art, despite thine aspect wild, 

The all my soul demands. 

The visions of the loved and lost 
Are blended with each scene, 

' t 

And memory lives to linger o’er 
Each spot where bliss has been.” 

The doctor struggled hard with his feelings ; but, in 
spite of his exertions, the “memory of other days” 
caused the tear to glisten in his eye. “ Louis,” he 
said, as he poured out the sparkling wine, “drink I 
I ’ll try and bear it, and leave such thoughts for my 
solitary moments. What do you think of going tc 
America ?” 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


801 


‘‘ Doctor,” he answered, after a moment’s reflection, 
“ I would like very much to accompany you, but the 
term of my probation has hardly expired.” 

‘‘ That is nonsense. You have arrived at an age to 
judge for yourself. Will you go?” 

“ Doctor, you have touched a chord in my heart. 1 
was intending to visit the north of Europe, but I will 
go with you.” 

“Well said, my brave fellow 1” answered Grants 
exultingly ; “ we will go.” 

“ Agreed,” said Louis. 

“ Eight, my boy I right 1 Your company will be 
a solace to me. Instead of taking ship at Genoa, we 
will at once to Paris ; and there, Louis, we will see the 
girls, whom I love as much as if they were my own. 
A day or two there, and then to Havre.” 

“ I will go, doctor, although I have not the advice 
of my guardian ; still, he will not blame me.” 

“ I will set you easy on that score. I thank you for 
your acquiescence,” said Grant, taking him by the 
hand, and shaking it heartily. “Here is to your 
health, and may your future life never be clouded by 
a single storm.” 

Louis, thanking him, reciprocated his good wishes^ 
and they departed. 

The day was spent in rambling about Naples and 
its en virons. Over the entombed cities at the base of 
V^esuvius they roamed, and speculated over their re- 
mains. Upon the island of Capri, which Tiberias 
chose as an abode, and to the Cape of Minerva^ where 
the Parthenopian syren dwelt ; amid the ruins of form- 
er grandeur, and rich associations of classic lore, the 
two reunited friends spent many hours; and it was 


802 


THE CIIEOLE ORPHANS. 


only when the sun was declining that they wended 
their way homeward. 

At length night came. Ah ! who can conceive, 
but those who have experienced it, the delicious and 
voluptuous languor which steals over one here, in this 
heavenly climate; the balmy breeze from over the 
bay^ freighted with perfumes; the laughter of the 
boatmen ; the merry voices of passengers, or, maybe, 
of a gay party of the Neapolitans, as they are slowly 
rowed over the glassy bosom of the water? There 
was the sound of music from each balcony ; the pal- 
aces of the nobles were illuminated with splendor ; 
and, ever and anon, the far-off song of the fisherman 
over the water, was heard piously ascending to the 
Virgin. 

Then, the mole which projected far out into the bay, 
was covered with idlers of all nations. There was the 
big-speaking Englishman, the querulous Frenchman, 
the silver-tongued Italian, and the melodious Spaniard. 

Around a kind of troubadour were gathered a knot 
of sailors, mostly natives, who were listening with 
silent interest to the songs of the musician — an interest 
broken only by some expression of pleasure from the 
attentive group. 

Our friends sat at the edge of the water, which, 
reflecting the blue sky and bright stars, made them 
seem swimming in a bath of liquid light. It appeared 
as if one could see far down into another world, so 
pure, so bright and transparent was the crystal sheet 
before them. Louis listened to the doleful strain of 
the musician, telling the story of some lovely maid 
carried off by corsairs. The doctor’s thoughts were 
far away, wandering back to a little mound of earth, 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


303 


cjotlied with flowers. Sad memories were busy at his 
heart. It was on such a night as this that he bade 
adieu to that angel, who, from among the pure and 
beautiful lights of Paradise, was now looking down on 
the beloved partner of her brief earthly happiness. 

The following morning a golden mist was in the 
atmosphere, as our travelers embarked in a small fe- 
lucca for Genoa. 

A week elapsed, and it was mid-day, as the two pass- 
engers, from Lyons, covered with dust, alighted from 
a diligence at one of the principal hotels in Paris. 

“ This begins to seem like civilization,’’ said the 
doctor, as they looked from their window upon the 
populous street, and as he arranged his toilet. 

Louis, who was lounging on a bed, added, We 
want only a New Orleans mint-julep to render the de- 
ception perfect.” 

In the evening they left the hotel to seek the con- 
vent. Dr. Grant, with the feeling of a fond father, 
longed to press to his bosom the children of his dear- 
est friend ; and Louis, who loved, and had always 
loved, felt a strange emotion in his breast, at the 
thought of again seeing the object of his pure affection. 
He had sometimes gone too see the girls during the 
first year of their sojourn in Paris ; but of late he had 
not gone so frequently. He did pay them a visit be- 
fore he left Paris on his rambles, and so from them 
first learned the death of their mother. 

The heavy Gothic architecture of the convent soon 
came in view, and they proceeded to the principal en- 
trance. The portress appeared ; the doctor asked for 
the Superior, and was ushered into the parlor. Scarce 
three minutes elapsed before she entered the room. 


S04 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


After introducing ftiemselves, the object ol theii 
visit was stated. 

^ “ Ah, gentlemen,” she' replied ; “ you can not be 
aware of the melancholy occurrence which — 

“Good Heavens! madam!” vehemently cried Dr. 
Grant, wholly forgeting the presence in which he stood^ 
and the sanctity of the place. “Your looks tell of 
something dreadful, speak out! has any thing hap- 
pened ?” Then recovering himself and actually blush- 
ing, he continued. “ Forgive me, madam ! biit I am 
a dear friend of their father’s, and your hesitation 
caused me to feel uneasy.” 

“ Dear sir,” she replied, “ my forgiveness you have. 
I have heard the dear children, in speaking of their 
home, mention your name with kindness. But the 
young ladies have gone to America, in charge of a 
gentleman sent for them by a relative, a Mr. Talbot.” 

“Ha! treason!” exclaimed the doctor; “the infer- 
nal villain. And does Colonel Ormond, their father, 
sanction this, madam ?” 

“ Alas ! sir, he lives no longer.” 

“Dead, dead!” shouted he, leaping from his seat 
“It is impossible! When! where! did this occur? 
This is a most fearful blow ! Is this true, madam ? 
or have they imposed on your credulity ? Ormond 
dead ! no, it can not be.” 

“ I know not, sir.” replied the Superior, who ap- 
peared to be slightly offended, “ if I have been im- 
posed upon, but I have the letters written to me by 
their kinsman, and that was, I suppose, a sufficient 
authority for me.” 

“ Then pray, madam, let me see them ; this blow ia 
so sudden, so unlooked for.” 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


305 


She rang a small bell ; a domestic stood before her ; 
she gave her an order, and the woman disappeared, 
but returned directly, bearing a package of papers, 
which she proceeded to examine. The doctor all this 
while wa? walking hastily back and forth the room, 
his mind a tumult, and his brain confused. When 
fche sister entered with the papers he walked to the 
Superior and hastily seized the proffered letter of Tal- 
bot. He hurriedly read it, then crushing it in his 
hand, exclaimed — 

“ By the powers of a higher world ! Ormond, my 
friend! but I will avenge you, if you have been in- 
jured — I will save your children from the monster. 
If I fail in this, I will shave my head and become a 
monk the remainder of my life. 

“ Madam, I offer you my excuses for my discourt- 
eous manner ; but when the heart is stirred with agony 
there is no time for conventionalities. I had a friend 
who has been cut off in the prime of life, and I very 
much suspect that this person, Talbot, is trying to 
play a foul game, which, for want of proof, may be 
successful.” 

“ He is the near relative of Colonel Ormond, and I 
presume has a right to a portion of the property, and 
the guardianship of the children.” 

“No more than you have, madam; but how long 
have they been gone ?” 

“ About three weeks, sir.” 

“ Then there is yet time. He has the game to him- 
self. Madam, farewell I Come Louis, now for venge- 
ance! Oh, Ormond, my friend, and you too gone !” 

Louis was much shocked, and he remained as if 

stunned while this scene was being enacted. But he 
20 


306 


THE CREOLE ORPHAN’S. 


at once went to the hotel with Dr. Grant, and took the 
Diligence for Havre. 

We next find our excellent friends leaning over the 
bulwarks of a vessel bound for Charleston, in Aneric ^ 
and watching the receding shores of France 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


“He loured on her with dangero^is eye-gl»nce, 
Showing his nature in his countenance.” 




again call npon the scene-shifter and turn to 


others of our characters. Zoe and Estelle sailed 
from Havre under the protection of Stamps. He 
scarcely knew how to conduct himself toward thejm. 
He was fearful if he treated them with too much re- 
spect, knowing the licentious character of Talbot, that 
he would be laughed at. He had been candidly told 
the condition of the girls before he left, and he knew 
that Talbot could and would claim them as slaves. 
Yet still when he looked on therti in all their youth 
and grace, and beauty, his rising feelings would be 
checked by their dignified modesty. At the same 
time he had determined the fate of one of them at 
least, upon their arrival in New Orleans. He, how- 
ever, concluded to act toward them under present cir- 
cumstances with respect; but he could not avoid let- 
ting them observe his ardent gaze fixed on them as 
they came on deck. They were disgusted and alarmed, 
and longed for the termination of the voyage, well 
believing that in Mr. Herndon they would find a pro- 
tector. To heighten this feeling on their part, he one 
day informed them that he was aware of the relation 
in which Colonel Ormond stood to their mother. 


308 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


What agony these two poor unprotected orphans 
experienced, can only be imagined by the virtuous 
and good; and they felt an unaccountable relief when 
the line of coast which debouches out from the main 
land into the Gulf of Mexico, came in sight ; but they 
sighed when they remembered that here they parted 
years before with those who were now no more ; 
whose glad smile and endearing embrace would have 
atoned for the absence of so many long years. No I 
those dear parents were now no more, and they felt in 
approaching their native shores as strangers and exiles. 
They had noticed the singular attentions which Stamps 
showed them, and which gradually increased in bold- 
ness, until they almost arose to violence. Shudderingly 
they received them, but feared to offend the only one 
whom they could call protector. Many were the tears 
the unhappy girls shed as they sought their state- 
rooms to lament over the sad fate which placed them 
in his power ; for they felt that they were in his power, 
and began to dread the moment of their separation 
from the rest of the passengers. 

It was not that Stamps had said any thing very 
pointed, or spoken plainly of his feelings ; but he had 
intimated to them that they were wholly dependent 
upon the bounty of Talbot ; and observed that a strict 
compliance with his wishes would be beneficial to them. 

We say that Stamps had never spoken out plainly ; 
but it was with horror that they were forced to certain 
conclusions. Ah, although reared within the sacred 
walls of a convent, they had tact enough to appreciate 
it all. Like the shrinking mimosa, whose delicate 
organization heralds the approach of danger, their 
souls recoiled and contracted at his approach. 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


30 & 


Females have an instinctive feeling, which prompts 
them to beware when an enemy draws near ; and 
words, looks, actions, are all rapidly understood, and 
virtue easily takes the alarm before the attack is 
made. 

So it was with the orphans ; they knew that a secret 
meaning lurked in Stamp’s breast, although perhaps 
they were not such graduates in the knowledge of good 
and evil as those who are raised in the school of city 
dissipation. Still they comprehended most of the 
enormous villainy before the voyage was completed. 
But the wicked plotting against their peace of mind 
was not understood or appreciated by them. Oh ! no; 
had the full truth burst upon their affrighted souls, 
they woidd have shrunk back aghast with horror, and 
the blue waves of the gulf would have closed over 
them before they would have left the ship’s side with 
their enemy. 

As for Stamps, he had at first been deterred from 
acting in a disrespectful manner, but as they advanced, 
and familiarity wore off some of the diffidence he nat- 
urally possessed, his feelings began to be wildly excited 
He determined to restrain those emotions, until a 
proper moment, and to fulfill his promise to Talbot ; 
but he had been rocked upon the billows of passion 
from a child, and never knew the salutary influence of 
self-control. 

He sat down and played chess with them or watched 
their sylph-like figures as they promenaded the deck ; 
or sat entranced and gazed at them, as they reclined 
at mid-day on the cabin sofas. 

Then with set teeth, and quickened pulse, he would 
swear that Zoe should be his. In fact he was madly, 


310 THE CREOLE ORPHAl^S. 

deeply enamored with her beauty, and felt that he 
would dare the wrath of Heaven, to possess her. 

He was, as we have shown, a depraved man, and 
scarcely knew reason, law, or honor. In otlier respects 
he was not so lost to all the ennobling qualities which 
ornament mankind. He was a bold man, and would 
scruple at no means to accomplish his object. At the 
same time he was generous, and would even put him- 
self out of the way to do a favor to a friend. He 
bad sworn to keep within the bounds of propriety 
with the girls, and, therefore exercised a partial con- 
trol over his emotions. He promised Talbot not to 
communicate the secret regarding the property, and 
their actual situation, until their arrival in New 
Orleans. 

Thus were the parties, when the ship was taken in tow 
at the Balize. Then in the hurry and confusion of pack- 
ingup cases, and getting in and out their luggage, those 
feelings were diverted from their tempestuous course for 
a brief period. The vessel reached the wharf, and the 
voyage was over. They stood on the soil of their 
nativity, without a friend or a guide. 

It was at a splendid hotel, crowded with guests, and 
filled with all the appurtenances of comfort and luxury 
that the coach stopped, and the victims were soon ush- 
ered into a handsome private parlor adjoining their 
chamber. 

Stamps had performed his part of the contract and 
he looked for his reward. 

After supper he appeared in their chamber from his 
own, which was immediately adjoining. They were 
standing at a window looking out upon the lighted 
streets, and hurriedly consulting with each other as to 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


811 


what Talbot would do in regard to their father’s prop- 
erty, which they believed belonged to them. 

“ Was it not our father’s?” said Estelle, “and is it 
not in justice ours now ? what right has this man to 
deprive us of it? He surely will not do it.” 

“Oh, sister,” replied Zoe, “we have been away a 
long time, and maybe, we have lost all claim to it ; Mr. 
Stamps says we are dependent on Mr. Talbot even for 
our very bread.” 

“ Then I had rather work for it,” was the reply. “ I 
can sew, and you, sister, can teach drawing and music.” 

“ Yes, yes, we can ; or I might obtain a place as a 
governess, and — 

“Not so fast, not so fast, ladies,” exclaimed a voice 
quite close to them. They both started, and drew 
closer to each other. It was Stamps, who had stolen 
in unperceived. 

“ Now, young ladies,” he said, as he negligently 
threw himself upon a sofa, and flung his legs over the 
back of a chair; “it is better — to — to take things 
moderately at first ; and if you will promise me not to in- 
terrupt but to listen to me, I will say something to you, 
which may put you on better terms with me.” 

They silently looked at one another, and made no 
reply, but seated themselves. 

“ Now,” continued he, “ first, you know who your 
mother was?” 

“We do, sir,” replied Estelle ; “ and if it be of that 
dear parent you are to speak, we desire to hear no 
more. You have already spoken once before of hei 
in a manner that no child would bear.” 

“ Hoity toity I” laughed he ; “ that is so far so good. 
Now, hear me; for you must hear me, whether you 


812 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


will or no. I have to say that to you which you had 
better listen to. Well, your mother was a Quadroon 
woman, unmarried — mark that, nnmarned — but living 
with Colonel Ormond. By him she had children. 
She was' a slavey 

“ That is false, sir !” exclaimed both the girls at 
once, rising, while a tempest of rage flashed in their 
eyes. “ That is a base falsehood, sir !” 

“Well, all this is mighty fine; but- the fact was 
proved in court long ago, and not only that she died 
a slave, but that you two educated ladies are slaves. 
Talbot is the heir, and you will be disposed of as he 
wishes.” 

He paused for a reply ; but astonishment, anger and 
grief had stricken them dumb ; they sat as if stupified. 
He was encouraged, and proceeded. 

“ Now, I will form a plan against Talbot, and assist 
you. I have long loved you, Zoe — ^yield to me. Be 
mine without the forms of the Church, and he never 
shall have power to injure you.” 

“Accursed fiend !” exclaimed Zoe, rising suddenly, 
in unutterable indignation. “Begone! and believe 
me, I would sooner die than be your lawful wife, 
much less the thing you would make me. Leave us, 
sir 1” And here she became overpowered by contend- 
ing emotions, and sunk again into the chair in an 
agony of tears. 

“ Is there no law in this land to protect the or- 
phan ?” exclaimed Estelle. “ If there is, I will appeal 
to it.” 

“You had better not, miss. In this case there is no 
help. Your best mode is to rely on my protection, to 
make a friend of me. ’ 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


813 


*‘A friend! yes, a fiend T said Zoe, raising her 
head. You are a friend! The tiger would defend 
the unprotected lamb ; the hawk will guard the dove.” 

“You may think you are right,” he said; “but it 
is not my wish to injure you, and to prove it, I now, 
Zoe, offer you my hand in honorable marriage.” 

He had taken this step to gain his purpose, because 
he saw it would not answer to bring the matter to a 
denouement too soon, and by force. He thought to 
lull thoir suspicion, and then make an easy 

Zoe replied — “ Mr. Stamps, your insulting proposal 
is too fresh in my mind for me to listen to you on any 
subject. We never could be any nearer, and I would 
never marry you. If you have the soul of a man, or 
the slightest spark of generosity, leave us, and hasten 
to Mr. Talbot, and say we await his arrival, and we 
will try to believe this a horrible dream.” 

“ Nay, nay ; I do not leave here until you have 
given me some encouragement — some hope for me to 
work upon.” 

“ I can not bid you hope,” said Zoe, who thought it 
best to delay giving him a decided and indignant re- 
fusal, well knowing that she was in his power, and 
that he might be induced to use coercion. “ Go and 
leave us ; and oh 1 take pity on us. W e are unpro- 
tected.” 

Stamps arose. ‘“I will go,” he said, “and at once 
write to Talbot, who will be down on the first boat ; 
but remember, you will find no sympathy in his 
bosom. Decide on my protection.” ' 

“We confide in the protection of one greater than 
you,” said Zoe. 

“Who is he?” 


314 THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 

'‘Godr 

“ I don’t know him,” was the answ'er of Stamps, as 
he left the room. 

Stamps retired to his room, and there sat down. 
The following note was dispatched that night bj mail 
U) Talbot. 

“ Hotel, New Orleans, 

“ May 15, 18—. 

Dear Tolly : — 

“ I have arrived, and the two birds are safel v 
caged. Hasten to me, and say that I have succeeded 
well. I await my reward, as your promise is re- 
corded, and I have set my heart on its fulfillment. 
Hasten ! I expect you. I have taken rooms here. 
Inquire for ‘ Mr. Brown and the two Misses Brown^ as 
these are the names I have assumed. I was not green 
enough to give our real names. Come on ! We will 
have fun, for we are as retired here, in this populous 
hotel, as w^e would be in a desert. Yours ever, 

“ Stamps. 

P. S. Zoe is miner 

When this letter was sent off, he returned to his 
room, and there remained, guarding the treasures 
which the next chamber contained. 

In the solitude of his chamber, he gave the rein to 
his imagination. He listened attentively to every 
sound from his neighbors, and played the jealous 
sentinel to perfection. 

During the long, long night, he lay, and while the 
innocent children were offering up their pure petitions 
to their Heavenly Guardian, he was wrapped in sinful 
dreams. 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 816 

The next day he dined with many of the passengers 
of the ship, and wine flowed freely. 

It was evening again. The girls sat in their cham- 
ber, clothed • in mourning; their faces were pale, and 
grief had left its impress; for their brows were troul> 
led, and their eyes were red with weeping. 

Stamps had been drinking freely, for his cheeks 
were flushed, and his eyes sparkled with the excite- 
ment of wine. Unbidden, he entered their apartment. 

“ Zoe,” he said, while his eyes glowed with a de- 
moniacal light as he surveyed her beauteous form, 
cannot endure this suspense. You must be mine. I 
adore you. Will you be mine ?” He here approached 
her, and his breath burned her cheek. She drew back 
in affright, and exclaimed, 

“ Mr. Stamps, sir, for heaven^s sake do not impose 
on our unprotected state ; be a man.” 

“ Zoe, listen,” he said ; “ be mine, I will protect you 
against the world. Talbot will sell you as a slave; 
.and he will force you — compel you to submit.” 

“ He never, never will — he shall not — I will die 
first.” 

‘‘ Then you will die ; for you are in his power — a 
slave — and he has the power. Come, consent to be 
mine.” Here he caught her by the arm forcibly, and 
essayed to draw her near. 

'‘Spare me, spare me!” she cried, falling on her 
knees, and imploring him with piteous accents. 

This seemed to inflame the fiend still more; his 
eyes sparkled with agitation. He approached nearer ; 
but she glided from him, and ran to the other side of 
the room. Her hair had become disheveled in the 
struggle, and she trembled violently with terror. He 


816 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


pursued, and again caught her in his arms. Zoe wag 
nearly senseless from alarm, could only utter a feeble 
cry, and then sank on the floor. He seized her in his 
arms, and lifting her up, bore her swiftly to her cham- 
ber. She was aroused, and again pleaded as if foi her 
life. 

“Oh, sir pray! Oh I do not, for the sake of the 
Holy Virgin, do me this grievous wrong. Oh! have 
pity on an orphan child 1 Oh I my father, my mother 1 
Look down and protect your child. God hear me 1’^ 
Stamps bore her to the couch, and stood by her side 
in his unholy frenzy. 

During all this time, Estelle was crouching in a 
corner, with her fingers in her ears, more dead than 
alive. She knew that assistance was not at hand. 
She knew that the door was locked ; and that her 
feeble cry for aid would only iri itate the wretch, and 
avail her nothing. 

Zoe lay with her heart fluttering like a wounded 
dove — her eyes starting with horror. Stamps placed 
himself by her side. 

She started up — “ Oh, sir 1 I am under your pro- 
tection; do not dishonor yourself. You are welcome 
to all our fortune.” 

“ That is already gone,” he said. 

“ Then spare me — I will be your slave — even bear 
with me for a time ; I will try and conquer my feel- 
ings; but oh, spare me now 1” 

“ Never, never I” he exclaimed. 

“ Spare me, for the sake of my friends I Oh, foi 
the sake of all you hold dear I Have you a sister ? 
By her honor I By your Mother 1 She may be in 
her grave — charge you by her memory — by the days 


THE CEEOLE ORPHANS. 817 

of your youtli and innocence, and by ber gray bairs! 
Ob, spare me, spare me 1” 

Never did a more decided effect follow an invo- 
cation. Tbe appeal to bim, "by tbe memory of bis 
mother,” was like oil poured upon angry billows. It 
said, “Peace, be still!” Stamps descended from a 
state of excitement into a calm. He drew back, and 
sank down, with his bands over bis eyes. 

“ Zoe,” he said, “ you have conquered. You have 
appealed to me in tbe name of my mother. That 
name with me is sacred. Her gray bairs are your 
protection. No! I will not barm you. Be at peace. 
Here is the key of your apartment — I leave you.” He 
turned away. Zoe sprang forward and caught bim 
by tbe band. She pressed it to her lips, passionately, 
and exclaimed ; “ Bless you ! bless you ! Then, 
sinking on tbe floor, she burst into a torrent of tears. 
He stood still a moment— a tear dimmed bis eye— he 
Biglied heavily, and left tbe room. 


.CHAPTER XXVIII. 


E now return to Talbot. He had gradually 



accustomed himself to the great change in his 
fortunes, and bore it philosophically. He superin- 
tended the economy of the plantation with as natural 
an air as if he had been raised in the South, and felt 
his own importance in no slight degree. The fright 
which Pierre had given him was over, and Pierre was 
more humble and more obedient than ever. Time 
passed on, and the feeling of uneasiness which would 
often creep over him had almost entirely vanished. 
He felt secure in his seat. He had long since dis- 
pensed with the services of Hiver, who, mistaken in 
his calculations regarding the plucking he intended to 
have off the young goose, retired in disgust and mor- 
tification to his dingy law books. But they some- 
times met; and Hiver managed, by a show of knowl- 
edge of his affairs, to keep a slight hold on him. 

He knew that Mr. Herndon was absent from home ; 
but, of course, imagined he was in the city. He knew 
not the dreadful storm that was gathering over him; 
that the clouds were accumulating, and the lightning 
of vengeance gathering. He heard not the distant 
muttering of the thunder, nor the rising wind. No I 
secure and tranquil, he dreamed of naught but bright 
skies and calm seas. 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


319 


He was dreaming of the arrival of the orphan chil- 
Iren of Colonel Ormond, and his prurient imagination 
was excited by the pictures which were constantly 
painted on his mind. 

The reader well knows the wicked ideas which had 
been generated and fostered in his brain, and with 
what pertinacity he clung to the frightful images. He 
now only waited the arrival of Stamps to secure in 
his power the innocent girls. 

A few weeks rolled by. He had decided in his own 
mind the course to pursue ; for he had lost, if he ever 
had possessed, all compunction of feeling for the sad 
fate of those he should have loved and guarded, if 
not for their own sake, at least from gratitude for the 
kindness shown to him by their father, when he came 
to the country a penniless adventurer. But such feel- 
ings were to him unknown, for his whole soul was en- 
veloped in self. 

At first he had rather hesitated in what manner' to 
receive the girls. He had thought that, to keep up 
appearances, and save himself, it were best to put 
them in obscurity, and on a small pension ; but when 
the wjrds of Hiver rang in his ears, “ The children 
shall follow the condition of the motherf and he felt 
that he was unmolested, and had the legal right on 
his side to act, he determined, if they pleased him, to 
compel them to his* wishes ; and when the determina- 
tion was fixed, the thing appeared less monstrous than 
at first. Thus it is : when the first thought of crime 
comes into the mind, it is struck with horror, and 
shrinks, appalled, from the contact; but as we accus- 
tom ourselves to think on it, the blackness assumes a 
lighter tint, and we can revolve it in our minds with 


320 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


out fear. At length it ceases to revolt us at all. What 
lessons this teaches us ! How guarded we should be 1 
bow careful to banish the very first thought of guilt — 

shrink from its loathsome touch, and sternly refuse 
to give the thought a place in our bosoms. 

He chanced to be in the county town. At the post- 
office a letter was handed to him, and by the peculiar 
fold and writing, he saw at a glance that it was from 
Stamps. He coolly put it in his pocket ; but, when 
he was secure from observation, to tear it open was 
the work of a moment. 

“Ah! now,’^ he exclaimed, as his eyes sparkled, 
“ now comes the tug of war again. Billy must be 
paid ; it must be with money. Who would think he 
could have the impudence to require such a thing ? 
He expects me to fulfill my promise ; but I must see 
them before I decide to reject his suit. Ha 1 ha 1 what 
a kind cousin I am I But, Billy — it will never do to 
make an enemy of him. He is too reckless, too bold, 
and would sacrifice himself and me. So I must see 
them.” With this determination, he walked up to the 
village hotel, and, leaving orders to have his horse 
sent to the plantation, he waited for a boat. 

“ I am now going on a mission new to me,” he said, 
as he stepped off the plank of a steamer in New Or- 
leans. “ I am now engaging in the intrigues of Cupid, 
Ah I and how many men have been wrecked by the 
soft blandishments of the little divinity; but I am 
bred for a sterner court, and will beware 1” 

•With a palpitating heart he approached the hotel 
where the objects of his unnatural persecution were 
housed. He looked cautiously around him. Stamps 
was standing on the portico of the hotel, which ovei 


THE CEEOLE OKPHANS 


821 


.ooked the street. Suddenly his eye lit upon Talbot, 
and, uttering a cry of joy, he called his name, and 
dove down the steps, intending to pounce upon 
him ; but the person he slapped on the shoulder, ex- 
< Jaiming in a voice of a high tone, ‘‘ Tolly ! Toll}’^ ! I 
am so glad to see you was a stranger, for Talbot had 
apprehended the reception, and discovered Stamps ere 
he had seen him ; so, when he saw him descending 
upon him, he adroitly stepped into a hair-dressing 
saloon. 

The looks of Stamps were woeful and blank in the 
extreme. He gazed in the gentleman’s face a mo- 
ment in amazement, and exclaimed, “Bewitched!” 
and then, with his head on Jiis breast, slowly went up 
the steps again. But Talbot soon joined him, and told 
him that he had played the trick on him to avoid a 
public display. 

“ Well, you are a prudent fellow. Tolly I” he said; 
“you are cut out for a Talleyrand; you are a keen 
one,” he continued, again jumping up and shaking 
hands with him. “ Well, Tolly, how do you think I 
have done, eh ?” 

“ Well, I prefer talking over our affairs in some 
other place than here. They will hardly bear too 
much light. Come, let us take a drink, and we can 
sit in the bar-room, out of observation.” , 

“ Agreed ; though there ’s my room, but that ’s too 
near.” 

“ Too near what ?” 

“ Wliy, my room is too near. It is next door to 
it.” 

“ It appears that you have learned some care, then,^ 

laughed Talbot. 

21 


822 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


^‘Well, I calculate I am learning to take care of 
them,” he added, smiling facetiously, and grinning 
with a knowing leer. 

“ I presume they are well, and resigned.” 

* Oh, yes, they are hearty ; but about as resigned as 
t perch in a bundle of dry moss.” 

“That is bad; but they might as well be recon- 
ciled, for they are my slaves.” 

“ Yes,” said Stamps, in a delighted manner; “ and 
all I want. Tolly, is for you to fulfill your promise to 
me ; then I am your friend till ‘ old Bones’ comes.” 

“You may depend on me, Billy,” he replied, biting 
his lip ; “ but what if I make you a proposition. 
What will you take to l^t me off*? how many silver 
dollars ?” 

Stamps looked at him a moment, and a smile of 
scorn almost was perceptible as he replied, “ Not the 
wealth that you own would make me give up , but 
there is one thing T would do.” 

“ What is it ?” asked Talbot, eagerly. 

“Agree to free the girls; swear to never, in any 
manner, molest them ; make a provision for them, and 
I swear never to say another word on the subject.” 

Talbot looked at him in surprise, to see if he was 
in earnest, and then exclaimed, “ Hem ! why, Billy I 
hem I ah — I don’t know about that, you see.” 

“‘You see I’ yes, I see,” returned Stamps, angrily. 
“ I see that you are unwilling to do justice to these 
girls, and you wish to deceive me !” 

“ Not at all, Billy ; you mistake me.” 

“ Well, then, if I am mistaken, I will make a prop- 
osition to you, and if you hold to it, all will be well, 
and we are friends.” 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 328 

“ What is it 

“Why, the fact is, you brought these girls over 
here to subdue them to your wishes ; and as they are 
situated, ruin may be their fate. If it could be other- 
wise, it were better; but now I make this bargain 
with you : Give me Zoe ; you take Estelle ; they are 
equally handsome, but I have my preference. It may 
be we shall both be foiled ; for it is said that women 
have a way of their own ; but, if it is a bargain, say 
so, and we will assist each other.” 

“Then,” said Talbot, “ I am with you in heart and 
soul. You for Zoe, I for Estelle. Hurra for the Holy 
Alliance !” 

“ Then here is my hand, and we will help each 
other. Now for another drink, and we will consider 
the affair closed.” 

Talbot now found that he had a spirit to deal with 
not so subservient as he had imagined, and saw he 
would be forced to yield, so he thought it best to do 
so with a good grace ; but his heart was bitter toward 
Stamps for it. He knew, however, that he could 
depend on the veracity of his friend, he would not 
deceive him ; and he accordingly determined to sacri- 
fice his feelings to his interests. 

“ Come, Billy, let ’s walk out, and, as we go, we can 
talk.” 

The two now strolled forth, and, as they went side 
by side, their dreadful project was arranged. 

“ Now, Billy,” said Talbot, “ we must move cau- 
tiously in this matter, and we can succeed. Sly and 
sure is my motto.” 

“ No, sirree 1” said Stamps, decidedly. “ Don’t you 
see, if you are going to treat them as slaves, the way 


324 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS 


to do it is to break down their spirits at once, and then 
they wonH care what becomes* of themselves?” 

“Yes; suppose they resist?” replied Talbot, who 
saw, however, that there was philosophy in his argu* 
uaent. 

“ But they must yield.” 

“ All this is very well, but I must first see them.” 

“ That you shall soon do. Oh ! Tolly, but they are 
lovely ; remember, I own Zoe.” 

“ Very well. When shall we see them ?” 

“ We had better wait until it is later.” 

“ They shall obey me ; they are my property, and 
they shall be bent to my wishes.” 

“ That ’s the way. Tolly. Use boldness, and we will 
succeed.” 

It was night in the Crescent City. There were the 
busy crowd in the street, the hurried chase of the 
giddy after pleasure in the ball-room, the merry round 
of revelers in the saloon, and the shout of bacchanals 
from the bar-rooms. There was dissipation in the 
lamp-lit streets, vice in^the jeweled crowd, and treach- 
ery on the hearth-stone. There was sneaking murder 
in the darkened courts ; virtue and happiness in the 
domestic circle. 

Talbot had given himself up to the hands of the 
barber, and came forth from his room highly per- 
fumed ; but all the barber’s art, and all the patchwork put 
on him, could not hide that black heart, full of wicked 
designs, as he presented himself, smirking, before 
Stamps. He arose, and after a whispered and hurried 
conversation, silently preceded by Talbot, they wended 
their way to the room occupied by Zoe and Estelle. 
Here Stamps took the lead. 


tfiE CREOLE ORPHAlSrs. 325 

When the door was opened, they discovered the 
sisters seated at a table^ conversing in a low tone. 

Stamps assumed a free easy tone and manner as he 
advanced. He presented Talbot to them as their 
relative. A sudden agitation seemed to take posses- 
sion of them, as they confusedly arose and returned 
the affected salutations. 

Talbot, who had counted on the swarthy com- 
plexion of the girls to give a color to his designs, was 
sensibly struck and astonished at their clear and bril- 
liant color — of Estelle in particular, and he felicitated 
himself on his election of her instead of Zoe. 

He was as much embarrassed as they, and hardly 
knew what to say, as they regarded him with anxious 
countenances. 

“ I am glad to welcome you back to your native 
soil once more,’’ he exclaimed, holding out his hand. 

We have arrived in obedience to your summons, 
Mr. Talbot,” said Zoe ; “ and we place ourselves under 
your protection.” 

I shall be pleased to have it in my power to make 
you comfortable ; but you must be aware that there is 
a change in our conditions since we parted.” 

“ We have nothing of our own,” said she; ‘‘since 
we are informed by Mr. Stamps that you are the heir of 
our father; and you then will not attempt to restrict us.” 

“ You are vastly mistaken, Zoe. You are both 
entirely subject to my disposal — mine by the right of 
the law. It now remains to be seen if you will require 
harsh treatment, or will receive kindness.” 

Merciful Heaven ! and are we to be tortured still 
farther?” asked she; “without friends — without 
home. We are poor, destitute, and wretched;” 


826 


tan CREOLE ORPaAKS. 


“Not so — not so,” replied Talbot; “ it is true that 
your father left his affairs in such a situation that 
nothing but superior management saved the property 
from utter ruin ; still I am willing to share it with you, 
on one condition.” 

“ Name it, sir,” she answered, as the rich blood 
mounted to her forehead. 

“ To offer no objections to my suit, if not sanctioned 
by the formalities of a long and tedious courtship ; ay, 
and to be mine without — in plain words — without the 
aid of a priest.” 

“ With or without one, never, sir,” she exclaimed, 
as she burst into tears. 

“ No ! don’t sir,” said Stamps, rising. “ You prom- 
ised me you would not play this game — she ’s mine.” 

“ Oh 1 you are a fool, Billy. Of course it ’s all in a 
general way. I don’t want her in particular.” 

“ Well, see that.you don’t. Go talk to Estelle. ’ 

Talbot bit his lips — frowned — then smiled — and 
turned off toward the window, whistling and gazing 
into the lighted streets. He, as well as Stamps, was 
in a fury at the obstinacy, as they termed it, of the 
girls. Talbot approached Estelle. 

“What now, my pretty one,” he said, as he sat 
down by her side on the sofa, and attempted to take 
her hand, which she withdrew; “you are mad with 
me.” 

“ No, sir, I am not.” 

“ No ! then what is it?” 

“ Because, sir, you are too contemptible for anger.” 

“ Ah, ha I my scornful beauty,” he replied, piqued 
at her scorn; “I will learn you to love me. You 
hove been allotted to mi^” 


THE CilEOLE OKPHAKS. 


827 


You will not obtain me, then.” 

“ You think so?” 

“ I am certain of it.” 

“ You are a knowing little witch,” he said, in a 
tender manner, for he was now really affected by her 
piquant beauty ; and he drew her suddenly to him, 
imprinting a kiss upon her cheek. 

She drew away in disgust and anger. 

‘‘Base, unmannered hound,” she said; “you are a 
villain” 

“Oh! you are mistaken,” he answered; “a mere 
term, however;” and here he again threw his arms 
around her. She again drew back, with some dif- 
ficulty, enraged, and as he again attempted the same 
feat, she struck him with all her strength in the face. 
Stung by rage, he forgot himself, and the base-born 
scoundrel returned the blow. 

“ That was a most cowardly act 1” said Stamps, 
turning round and looking him full in the face. 

“ You infernal little minx,” exclaimed Talbot, “ that 
act settles your fate. You shall either submit, or I il 
put you up at auction and sell you to the highest bidder 
— for you are my slaves — and the law will protect me 
in my property. Come, Billy, let us go, and give the 
jades a little time for reflection. Now, hear me,” he 
added, turning round as he reached the door; “you 
shall for a few days have no motestation ; and I swear 
if you do not yield at the end of that time, I will use 
the power I possess to compel you; but you will bit* 
terly rue it, I assure you. Think,” he said, tauntingly, 
“ how you would feel to be placed on the block, by the 
side of a lot of fat negroes, and have your beauties 
exposed to the gaze of a thousand libertines.” 


828 THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 

** In the name of Heaven. gOj fiend ! and leave us a 
few hours alone. Go ! and may the curse of the Pro 
tector of the fatherless cling to you I” 

He retired from the door ; and as he went, he uttered 
a low, chuckling, bitter laugh; and the poor girls, as 
they heard the key turn in the lock, fell into each 
other’s arms and wept. 

The next day, during the morning, Talbot entered 
their room again. 

'‘Well, girls,” he said, in a hypocritical voice, “I 
hope you have thought well of this matter ; for I do 
not intend to trifle with you, I assure you.” 

“ All we want,” said Zoe, " is, if we are slaves, to 
be allowed to earn our bread; but, sir, what right 
have you to us? How are we slaves? Or is this 
only a fable of yours ?” 

“ A fable 1 Well, it will prove a sad reality to you. 
Listen ! Your mother was a slave — a Quadroon slave 
— in the West Indies; she was sold, and Colonel Or- 
mond, attracted bj^ her beauty, purchased her. They 
lived together as man and wife, unmarried. The law 
not allowing illegitimate children to inherit, I was the 
heir, and your father never having freed your mother, 
both you and she were slaves. You are my property, 
as you were his. Now do you understand?” 

A deadly pallor overspread the cheek of the beau 
tiful girl, as she followed him through to what was to 
her a blasting death- stroke to her hopes. 

“ And is this true?” she murmured, sadly. 

If there is any doubt of it — if you do doubt it 
at all, I can bring a lawyer who will soon satisfy 
you.” 

Then are we lost indeed. Can this be so? Is it 


tHE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


829 


true? I am surely dreaming; but no, it is a fr.glitful 
reality. I remember to have heard something like 
this, years ago, from my father’s negroes ; but oh * I 
never dreamed it true ; I was a little child then. Oh, 
father, father I how terrific a curse you have be 
que,athed to your children !” 

It is not justice,” said Estelle. 

“ Ah, my charmer I it may not be justice, but it ia 
law.” 

“ Is there no help on earth for it ?” asked Zoe, with 
horror and consternation in her countenance. “ Oh 1 
why did our Creator allow us this suffering ? W hy 
did we leave the peaceful scenes of our convent life in 
Paris ? Oh ! it is more awful than I could ever dream 
of. A slave ! It is frightful I” And here she pressed 
her hands tightly over her eyes, as if it were to shut 
out a hoiTible sight. She trembled violently, and 
seemed to be on the point of going into hysterical 
convulsions. 

‘^Come, Zoe,” he .aid, ‘‘do not despair. I will 
make it as light as possible.” 

“ Despair l it is worse than despair ; it is worse than 
death. Slaves! Oh! the idea is awful. I shall go 
crazy. Come, sister,” she exclaimed, “ we are slaves 1 
Come, let us go out to our labor, let us bend our 
knees to our master. Oh 1 was it for this that we 
were sent to school, refined, and educated — mingling 
with the nobility of France — the pets of the kind 
ladies — to be ultimately dragged into the slave mai^ 
ketl” 

“Come, Zoe,” exclaimed he, again, “resign your^ 
selves into my hands, and I will act like a man.” 

“ Ah 1” said Estelle, “ if you were to act like a man, 


830 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS* 


you would let us go unharmed. You hafe all out 
father’s property. Shame on the manhood of him 
that would claim his children as slaves !” 

Would it add to your honor,” said Zoe, “ or youi 
liappiness, to bruit it abroad that you had concj^uered 
two weak and defenseless girls ? Ah ! if no touch of 
jnty moves your breast, let us buy our freedom. T 
can give music lessons, and Estelle can sew and paint; 
and when the last dollar is paid, we will fall on our 
knees and bless you.” 

“ There is only one method,” he replied, coldly. “I 
have mentioned the way, and the time is almost out;” 
and here he turned to leave the room. 

‘‘ One question,” said Estelle. 

“ What is it?” 

“ Are you a human being, or only a beast clothed 
in a human form ?” 

Talbot turned again without replying; he was al- 
most frantic, and he now determined more than ever 
to conquer them. He paced the hall backward and 
forward for an hour, to cool his fevered brow, and 
curb his impetuous temper. Suddenly he turned, and 
again entered the room. 

“ Girls,” exclaimed he, “ this is folly. Why not 
come to an understanding at once? We need not be 
.enemies. Come, Estelle.” Here he whispered in her 
ear. As quick as a lightning’s flash she leaped from 
lier seat, and sprang back as if she had touched an 
adder. Her eyes flashed with anger, and her nostrils 
dilated with scorn. 

Base and cruel man ! unnatural monster I” she ex« 
claimed. '‘And would you, could you — could any man 
born of woman ever stoop so low ? Could you forge% 


TSE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


831 


tliat there is a God above us, and then ask for such a 
sacrifice ? Can any one calling himself a man forget 
honor and gratitude?” She approached him. ‘"Sir,” 
she coatinued, as slie gazed steadily in his eyes, before 
whose pure fire his own trembled and averted their 
look. He seemed to see again the form of the injured 
Ormond, darting curses on him. ‘‘ Can you forget 
the father of the poor child whom you would now at- 
tempt to wrong ? Can you remember the time when 
you came to his house a stranger and in want, and 
then coolly and deliberately determine to crush the 
child of such a parent, to consign her to infamy and 
despair? Do you remember the pure, mild eyes of 
my mother? Do you remember any kindness shown 
to you by her? Can you remember any harshness 
from either, and can you now, when you remember 
our once happy home, can you, when the child of my 
parents stands tremblingly before you — a slave by an 
accident, and in your power- — can you hesitate how to 
act ? Oh ! no, you can not — can not now doom two 
innocent girls, who would have met you with so much 
kindness, to misery and shame ! Oh ! no, I know 
you will not. Human nature is not so degraded. 
You will free us, and I can even think that the eyes 
of my mother are now cast to the throne of God, and 
that her haipstrings send up a blessing for you.” 

Talbot, as bad as he was, actually felt this pathetic 
appeal, and almost half relented. 

A tap was heard at the door, and Stamps peered in 
He entered, and advanced to the side of Zoe. 

“Well, Tolly, what success?” be asked. 

‘^None at all.” 

“Well, I am thinking it is time to do something 


S32 THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 

as for myself, I will have my reward if the gates of 
destruction were opened wide upon me.” 

Oh ! do not surrender us to that man,” exclaimed 
Estelle, ‘‘ he is a villain.” This was said to Talbot. 

“Alas! poor sister,” replied Zoe, “you ean on a 
Ixroken reed, for he is as bad as the other.” 

“ The alternative is before j^ou,” said Talbot , “ we 
only intend kindness.” 

“ Kindness I yes, such kindness as the hyena shows 
to the trembling fawn when he is about to tear it in 
pieces.” 

“Well, then, decide,” he said, petulantly; “agree 
to our proposal, or the auction block.” 

“Is there no hope?” 

“ None!” 

“ Well, leave us,” replied Zoe, in tears, “leave us, 
and we will think and weep over this concentration 
of horrors.” 

It was in their c^wn room, that night, that Talbot 
and Stamps felici tated themselves on the victory 
which they conceived they had gained. Talbot had a 
new feeling awakened in him; he had heretofore 
thought or cared for nothing but money. The cur- 
rent was now turned, and he was launched on the sea 
of sin ; every thought and every feeling else was swal- 
1 wed up in this all-absorbing theme. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


“The sun 

Declined, was hasting now with prone career 
To th’ ocean isles, and in the ascending scale 
Of heaven, the stars that usher evening rose.” 

Miltox, 

Mr. Herndon left home, he had not fully 
decided in what manner to act ; but his first course 
was to see Mr. Bland, with whom Ormond had the 
conversation, and who had decided him, as has been 
before detailed. Here he received information enough 
to warrant him in pursuing his course. He learned 
from him the fact with surprise that Ormond had 
legally acknowledged the children, and legitimated 
them. He remained in the city several weeks institut- 
ing inquiries, and at length found the vessel in which 
the voyage was made to Porto Eico. The captain 
confirmed him in his suspicions, and offered him every 
assistance in his power. 

He therefore set sail with him, and at the time he 
was leaving the mouth of the Mississippi river, Zf)e 
and Estelle, under convoy of Stamps, entered it. We 
will not follow him in his inquiries, but state that he 
fouTivl a vessel sailing for Martinique, in Havana. 

He reached that island, and there learned to his m 
expressible delight that Ormond had fully performed 
his promise — ^that the wife of his friend was free, and 


834 THE CREOLE ORPHAN'S. 

the children legitimated, and that no stain of Quad- 
roon blood tainted them. Oh ! how his heart bounded, 
and his soul was lifted up in gratitude to that myste- 
rious Ihovidence which had directed him aright in his 
course; and how, lava-like, his blood boiled in his 
veins when he thought of the usurper Talbot, and of 
the poor children v/hoiii he was not to see righted. 
With what joy he grasped the documents, copies of 
the records ; and how gayly he stepped to the hotel to 
hide the precious papers in his portfolio. 

It was the evening before the vessel sailed on its 
return that Herndon was stepping on board with his 
luggage. A large American vessel was just coming 
into the harbor, and he gazed proudly at the starry 
flag, as it waved in massive folds on the evening air. 
The anchor was dropped, and in a few moments a boat 
was seen to pull from the sides, and approach the 
shore. In the stern-sheets sat two figures w^hich at- 
tracted his attention. He kept his look fastened on 
the approaching boat. It appeared that the figures 
were not unfamiliar to his eye. He looked more 
steadily, and as the boat drew nearer, he could have 
almost shouted with agitation. There were two known 
faces. One was Grant— but that was impossible 
Still, there he was, now more distinct. Herndon shut 
his eyes — it was an illusion. He feared to open them. 
The boat passed around the bow. He could not pre- 
vent it — ^his tongue involuntarily shouted — 

‘^Doctor !” 

The person looked up steadily for a moment, then 
hastily said, “ Hold on 1 stop pulling!” 

‘‘Are you Dr. Grant?” asked Herndon, in a trern 
bling voice. 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


335 


Herndon ! by the God of war !” shouted the doc- 
tor, for it was he. In a moment he was on board ; 
and the two long separated friends pressed each other 
in a close and hearty embrace. Smiles and tears were 
mingled. Smiles of happiness, and tears of sorrow as 
old reminiscences were disentombed from the grave 
of feeling. Louis Lamotte was the other stranger, and 
he shared in the common joy. 

A few moments sufficed to explain their relative 
positions; and a few moments more to transfer the 
baggage to the vessel to sail in the morning. Hern- 
don had completed the business, and there was now no 
necessity for remaining longer. They sailed, and mutual 
explanations occupied them for a number of days. . 

For several days Talbot refrained from visiting the 
persecuted orphans, save at meal times ; for he found 
all his efforts to subdue them unavailing. They re- 
sisted every art ; and at the end of the time he was 
fain to confess himself vanquished. He took imme- 
diate steps to transfer them from the hotel, but had 
not decided whether to take them to the plantation, or 
to a furnished room in the lower portion of the city. 

The rain poured in torrents — the streets were 
deluged with water — and almost impassable. Dark 
and lowering clouds hung heavily over the city. 
None were out on such • a night, save the lurking 
thief — the outcast — and the wanderer. Even the 
drowsy watchmen had stowed themselves away in 
warm corners, snugly to sleep off the storm, and leave 
the good city to take care of itself. 

Talbot and Stamps were treading the dark streets 
toward the hotel. They had been in the lower por- 


SS6 THE CREOLE ORPHANS 

tion of the city to look at an old mansion which wa« 
for rent. Along the dismal and rank -smelling streets 
thev trod. The current of poverty and wretched- 
ness was flowing at this dark hour. There was the 
drunken sailor, reeling along with his last wages spent 
in grog ; and the low debauchee, making night odious 
with his songs ; and there were the women of the 
street, with their scanty and flimsy dresses, their glar- 
ing red cheeks, and blood-shot eyes — the grog-shop 
pets. Children too, of tender age — children of crime 
and of wretchedness, with cunning imprinted in old 
lines on their young faces, were there, with their 
hardened little countenances ; and there was the sound 
of the pot-house dance, the violence, the laugh, the un- 
chaste tongue, and the oath. 

The two friends passed on hastily, with downcast 
heads, avoiding the driving rain, and shrinking at 
each successive peal of thunder, which now shook the 
city to its trembling center. 

Before them moves slowly a female form. At their 
approach, she stops and looks around. She was a tall 
commanding figure, and by the lightning’s glare they 
could see that her hair was disheveled, and a stream 
of water was running down her face. She was bare- 
headed ; and her dress, which had once been of some 
thin material, was now draggled, wet, and muddy. 
She had evidently once been handsome. 

“ Who are you?” she asked ; “ and what want you 
with a forlorn vagrant.” 

“ Who are you?” replied Talbot, in return. 

I am what crime makes women,” she replied , and 
nor voice was low, tremulous, and not unmusical. 

What is your name?” 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


837 


**• I have none. It was buried many j^ears since, 
with my honor.” 

Talbot turned -to his companion, and whispered, 
•‘We may make something of this;” then turning, 
exclaimed, “ my good woman, you appear distressed, 
and cold, and wet. Would you like a good situation, 
tc make yourself an honest woman again.” 

She gazed at him ; and it appeared that she did 
not comprehend the question ; for it had to be repeated 
ere she replied, 

“ I have been the sport of fortune too long now to 
be duped by you. Leave me alone, and go your 
way.” 

“ But you do not comprehend me. Will you, if I 
clothe and feed you — will you serve me ?” 

“Food!” she cried, wildly; ‘‘food I oh I I will do 
any thing for food.” 

“ Well, follow me.” 

“ Are you crazy ?” said Stamps ; “ what do you 
want with this night hag?” 

“Billy, I have a head which has brought me 
through many an intricate plot ; see now if I don^t 
turn this to advantage.” 

“How ?” 

“ Come on, come on ; walk faster.” 

The poor creature mechanically obeyed the voice 
of her conductor, and painfully followed them. As 
they passed a small grocery, at the window of which 
was -still a light, he paused and there procured a por- 
tion of food for the miserable being. She devoured 
with the eagerness which famine can only give the 
bread and other articles furnished; and then, when 
she had finished, gazed wistfully around. 
n 


888 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


“Let her have it,” said Talbot, who stood, by and 
had been looking at her in astonishment. 

“What?” said the shopman. 

“ Give her liquor ; do you not see what she needs.” 
The shopman smiled at the penetration of Talbot, and 
poured out for her a half tumbler full of raw brandy. 
She swallowed it without any hesitation, uttered a 
deep sigh of pleasure, then arose and looked up at 
Talbot. “Have you finished?” he asked. A nod of 
assent was given, he threw down a piece of money on 
the counter and turned away. The storm continued, 
and they again plunged into the darkness. 

Some time elapsed and they reached the hotel. It 
was late, and the private entrance for ladies waa 
closed. A ruse was planned. Stamps went up to 
their room and brought down his cloak; this was 
thrown over the shoulders of the exhausted woman, 
and thus under cover concealing the wet and soiled 
dress, she was introduced into the hotel and into 
Stamps’s room. 

Caution was given to her not to speak ; a few bed 
clothes made into a pallet on the floor, and the wretch 
was soon sleeping soundly. 

“ Well, now for your explanation,” said Stamps, the 
next morning, as they descended the steps to the bar- 
room for their bitters. 

“ Listen, then ; — this is a woman who is perfectly 
dependent on us ; she is a beggar, and we can use her 
in every sense ; she will be a watchguard on the girls , 
nc one can approach them; and when^we leave the 
house, we will leave a good deputy. We can attach 
her to our interests, and she can work on their feelings 
as a woman only knows how. We can mold them to 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


839 


our wishes through her, and prevent them from hold* 
ing communication with any one. Do you now see 
the cream of the idea?” 

“ I do ; and I acknowledge it will be a most ezceh 
lent thing; for, as you say, by introducing her us their 
attendant we will have another last friend, and a spy 
in the camp.” 

After breakfast, Talbot went out and purchased 
clothing for their acquisition, so as to introduce her 
suitably to Zoe and Estelle. The articles were brought 
in, and as he left'the room he exclaimed — 

Come, rig yourself out, now, and when you have 
finished I wish to talk with you; I am going to pre- 
sent you to some ladies this morning, who need an at- 
tendant.” 

In an hour he returned, and found her attired in a 
decent manner. A remarkable change had occurred 
in her ; she, instead of resembling what she had been, 
now seemed a decent serving-woman. 

What is your name ?” he asked, as he threw him 
self in a chair. The woman studied a moment and 
then replied, 

“ You can call me Catherine, sir.” 

“Catherine what?” 

“Catherine Nothing.” 

“ Very well, Mrs. Catherine Nothing, wife of a bank- 
rupt tradesman, forced to seek a place, now you are 
aware that I know what you are ?” 

“ It is probable.” 

“Very good again; I want you to attend Oii two 
young ladies ; they are my favorites, and I want them 
well watched. Can you do it?” 

“ I can do any thing to keep out of the street*' 


840 THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 

“ That is good ; here is plenty of gold and he 
drew out his purse, through the green silk net-work 
of which the metal shone. “Only he faithful, and 
whatever you want you shall have.” 

“I will be faithful.” 

“ Now I will tell you — these girls are in my power, 
and they are perverse ; they yield to me when death 
somes, not before. I want their feelings wrought upon, 
and wish them bent to my wishes , they are mine ; more 
I will tell you another time. Can you undertake it?” 

“ I can, and will promise obedience. I was ruined ; 
why should I not lend my aid to ruin others. I will 
and can assist you.” 

“You will obey me, then, in all things?” 

“ I swear it.” 

“ Then say what you wish, and if you keep your 
promise faithfully, you shall never want; I under^ 
stand that you are mine to obey?” 

“ I am.” 

“ I wish to subdue these girls * more you will learn 
anon; do you comprehend me ?^ 

“I were an idiot did I not” 

“ Then follow me.” He led the way, and she fol- 
lowed. At the door he paused and turned ; a look of 
authority directed to her and a motion to come nearer 
was given. 

“ Eemembei-,” said he, in a low voice. 

“ Never fear,” she answered, as a look of peculiar 
intelligence shot from her dull eyes. 

“Zoe, I have brought you and Estelle an attendant 
she is faithful ; treat her kindly.” 

“We feel obliged to you,” she replied, “but could 
have done without this mark of your attention,” 


CKEOLE ORPHANS. 


84l 


He turned and looked at the woman. He noticed a 
dt^p forbidding expression pass over her features; he 
was satisfied ; he knew that Zoe had made an enemy. 
He saw the angry spot pass over her cheek, the eye 
kindle, and he knew that she was faithful. 

The day arrived again, and a carriage was drawn 
up at the private entrance of the hotel, as Talbot es- 
corted the two girls and their servant down to the 
vehicle, and entered it with them. Their state-rooms 
had been secured by Stamps on the steamer, and to it 
they were driven. The servant was faithful ; she was 
just the being Talbot wanted ; deep and impassable, 
unprincipled, and unfeeling. She who had been de- 
ceived now gloried in leading on to ruin an innocent 
girl. It was an especial pleasure for her to sit and 
gaze on them, to see their smooth cheeks and elegant 
forms, and to calculate how much suffering and time 
it would require to dim the brightness of those orbs, 
to hollow those cheeks, and place the seal of despair 
on those brows. She gloried in such work, and Tal- 
bot could not have found a more fitting agent. She 
duly reported all that was said and done by them, and 
a sigh could not have been drawn, a murmur whispered, 
or a pearly tear be shed, but it was regularly chron- 
icled to head-quarters. She tried to conciliate them 
at first, but met with a cold repulse, and therefore tried 
no more. They did not treat her unkindly, but wf.re 
not free in their intercourse with her, and at the same 
time expressed to her their feelings in regard to theii 
situation. 

They approached what had once been their home. 
The oak-trees waved their branches still, but mourn- 
fully; and the flowers bloomed, but from amid the 


542 


THE CREOtiE ORI^HANS. 


rank grass. There was a welcome, but a sad one. 
No one knew them when they walked up the avenue 
to their father’s dwelling; the servants who liad 
nursed them in childhood knew them no more. The}" 
were kept in strict seclusion ; even old Sylvia was not 
allowed to see them, and no servant knew that their 
master’s children were in the house, prisoners, and 
under a cruel tyrant. None had access to them but 
through Catherine, who attended to them and their 
room. 

Another attack was made upon them now, but 
without success. Talbot even offered them their free- 
dom, but they had rather be bond-slaves and live with 
honor, than be free without it, and his suit and offer 
were rejected with disdain. 

Talbot had thought well of what he was about to 
do ; be bad built up an edifice of villainy, and was 
now about to put on tbe crowning stone. He bad 
sworn a deep revenge, and vowed to sell tbe girls as 
slaves at auction, and be would not forego it. When 
informed of his final determination, they silently wept, 
but spoke not a word, well knowing how vain were 
words of petition to him, who seemed not to possess 
the ordinary feelings of humanity. Stamps entirely 
coincided with Talbot in his views, and agreed to go 
up to a parish town where there were negro sales the 
first Monday in every month, to make arrangements 
with the vendor to have Zoe and Estelle offered at the 
same time. 

Talbot knew be bad a desperate game to play, and 
he would have receded from the step, but he was 
aware that it was death to retrograde, and bis revenge 
would be unaccomplished. 


THE CEEOLE ORPHANS. 


843 


A week elapsed, and Stamps had returned. There 
was to be a large sale of negros, and he had made 
arrangements with the auctioneer to offer them for 
sale. 

A last offer was made to them ; but they remained 
firm, and preserved their virtue. 

The reader may wonder why such an idea as selling 
the girls ever entered his head. 

There are some spirits so perverse, some so refined 
in their cruelty, that common mortals can not conceive 
the incomings and outgoings of their minds ; and he 
knew that by their actually being sold at a public sale 
it would forever bar the claim set up by them for 
their father’s property, and its very boldness would 
prevent opposition. He would be revenged nobly, 
amply. At any rate, he had been foiled, cut in his 
most tender point, and he determined to carry it out. 
Accordingly, Colonel Ormond’s carriage, which had 
never been used since his death, was drawn out, and 
put in repair. 

The day came ; it was yet the gray of the morning, 
and tl\e poor orphans were placed in the carriage, to 
be carried to the sacrifice. Talbot went with them, 
and Stamps rode by their side ; thus they set forth. 
Catherine went also ; even she was touched with pity 
at the sacrifice, and would have retracted if she could, 

Talbot gloried in his power ; but there was an eye 
which watched these proceedings, and an arm ready 
to avenge them. There were rescuers near ; their 
prayer was answered. Pierre had listened to the con- 
versation between him and Stamps when the}" thought 
no mortal ear heard them. He knew the girls, he 
heard the whole plot, he saw them set forth, and he 


844 


THE CREOLB ORRHAHS. 


patiently waited for the arrival of Mr. Herndon. A 
tale he had to tell : for many a night had he silently 
sneaked beneath the window or behind doors, and 
had eagerly drank in all the plot 


CHAPTER XXX. 


“Destruction I swift destruction I 
Fall on my coward head, and make my name 
The common scorn of fools, if I for^ve him.” 

Vknicb. Preserved. 

T^HEN the girls awoke in the town in which they 
had arrived the night previous, it was morning. 
They found their own clothes gone, and a couple of 
coarse calico dresses substituted in their stead. Cathe • 
rine coolly informed them that they were the ones in 
which they were to appear. When they looked out 
through the windows of their sleeping apartment on 
the bright skies, heard the little birds gayly singing 
among the branches of the trees, and saw all nature 
refreshed and joyous, they burned sick at heart, and 
Zoe came near fainting. They thought they had sum- 
moned courage enough to meet their fate, but nature 
would prevail. 

Zoe looked on her sister sadly, and bitterly smiled 
as she donned her garb. “ These are our robes of 
slavery, sister.” 

“ Yes,” replied Estelle ; but, sister, I feel lightei 
at heart this morning than usual. It may he that I 
am going mad, or it may be faith — I feel that God 
will not, at the l^st moment, permit this sacrifice. 
You taught me the faith in our God, sister.” 

Zoe looked earnestly at Estelle ; she trembled, for 


846 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


she feared that the sparkle of the eye was the symp- 
tom of incipient madness. 

“You doubt my sanity, sister; but do not fear.” 

“ Why is this strange gayety, Estelle?” said she, as 
«he tenderly took her hand. 

“ Sister,” she replied, earnestly, “ I have had a 
dream I thought our dear motlier stood beside iny 
bed, and soothed my brow, as she was wont to do in 
other days, and she smiled benignly on me. Her form 
was bright as the rays of heaven’s own light, and as 
she spoke, her voice resembled the tones of a lute. 
She softly breathed, ‘ I am with you, my child ; it is 
power given by God to me to be ever with you in 
spirit. I am always with you, guarding you from dan- 
ger. Be of good cheer : this is a trial, but all will go 
well.’ This said, she slowly faded away. I then 
thought that I sat in our dear old garden, here at 
home, listening to the gentle swell of the summer 
wind, and that there was a sound of sweet, soft music 
—oh I so sweet and pure — and that it was our moth- 
er’s prayer, ascending to God for us.” 

The tears streamed from Zoe’s eyes, as she listened 
to the simple and pathetic recital ; and, as she clasped 
her in her arms, she exclaimed, “ Oh ! God, this is too 
much, too much ! Oh 1 father, mother, little dreamed 
you of this 1” 

“ Come, come, girls 1” sharply cried the woman, who, 
during all this time, had stood by without a muscle in 
her countenance betraying a single emotion, “ you 
must be getting ready. If you don’t, I will be 
blamed.” 

They silently obeyed her, with streaming eyes. 

“Sister,” exclaimed Estelle, “I can not help feeling 


THE cheole orphans. 


847 


that there is more in my dream than it seems. I feel 
confident that this most monstrous villainy will not be 
allowed to go on.” 

Ah ! dear Estelle, do not buoy yourself up with 
hopes, which, like bubbles, will burst. Oh I no, we 
are doomed.” 

All the help you will get,” exclaimed the discord- 
ant voice of the woman, “ will be that some gay young 
gentleman^ who has got more money than brains, will 
buy you, defy laws, and make ladies of you. And 
why should they not? others as good have been 
ruined.” 

They turned pale at this unfeeling speech; they 
strongly compressed their lips, and then merely said, 
“ God help us !” 

Oh I yes. He can if He will, but He ain’t a goin’ 
to. Why did n’t He help me fifteen years ago, when 
I was young, and innocent, and pretty ? Ay, pretty I 
you need not look so. I was young and pretty once ; 
the roses bloomed on my cheek, and my young heart 
was uncrushed, and the earth was bright and lovely, 
and a song was ever on my lips. But my poor old 
mother died. She is in heaven now, God bless her ; 
and I was deceived. Then, when the odor was taken 
from the flower ; when the roses were all withered up, 
the thorns were left — the young heart was blighted. 
Then, then I was turned out into the streets of Bos- 
ton, to beg, or starve, or steal, or do worse. Ay, and 
I did do worse^ and — and I became what I am, and 
have been ever since, and always will be ! Yes I I 
say, why should you not be what I am. You are 
nothing but women. Why should not the well-stream 
of your affections be dried up, and your young feel 


348 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


mgs blighted, your hopes cut short, and the golden 
fruits of the autumn of your life be turned to bitter 
ashes ?” 

‘‘ Oh ! hush ! in the name of our holy mother ” ex 
claimed Zee, putting her hands to her ears- 

Ah I well, if it will do you any good, I will hush ; 
but you will find it is the best way to give in at once. 
It ain’t no use to struggle against it ; it ’s fate. Others 
have had to do the same. If I could save you, I 
would, but I can’t ; and — there comes my master,” she 
added, hastily. 

Talbot now entered the room, accompanied by 
Stamps and another person. He seemed to be a 
planter, for he was dressed in plain clothes, and car- 
ried a riding- whip. But there was a look of manly 
independence about him which compared favorably 
with the others. He started with surprise when he 
saw the girls. 

‘‘ Are these the Quadroons you mean ?” he asked, 
suspiciously. 

“Yes,” replied Talbot, “these two. Come, stand up 
here^ Zoe; you and Estelle. Pretty good-looking, 
ain’t they ?” he added, with a sly wink at the stranger. 
He had been drinking very freely that morning. 

“Yes, they are remarkably pretty ; and I d.o not 
know what to think of it. They are as white as you 
or myself.” 

“ Oh I as to that, here are the papers,” he said, tak- 
ing out a bundle ; “ here is the certificate of the parish 
judge and clerk of the court.” 

“ Well, that is all right,” he replied, “but they 
too pretty to sell. I would free them, and so would 
any other man.” 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


349 


‘‘ I will not, though ! I can’t afford to lose on them.’' 

Of course any man has a right to do as he chooses 
with his own property.” 

Talbot was acting the brutal negro-tradei, and he 
did it to perfection. He did not really wish to sell 
them then, but he thought it would add another pang 
to the hearts of the persecuted children, to be handled 
like beasts by strange, unfeeling hands. He wished 
the pleasure, the revenge of exhibiting them before 
low-bred, unfeeling overseers and traders. He gloried 
in tearing their young hearts with agony. He ordered 
them to rise again. Zoe did so, but Estelle obstinately 
refused to leave her seat. He walked across the room, 
and, seizing her by the arm, forcibly jerked her up. 
The sudden motion caused all her long, dark hair to 
fall showering over her shoulders. She resisted, and 
gathered up the tresses in her hand. He was furious 
with passion and liquor. 

Oh ho !” he exclaimed, “ your hair is too trouble- 
some ; here, I will soon relieve you of it and, seiz- 
her long, beautiful hair in his hands, at the back of her 
head, he called for a pair of scissors. Catherine 
brought them, and, with a few cuts, he severed it, or 
the greater portion of it, close to her head, and threw 
it on the floor. 

“ Unmanly coward !” cried Zoe; but she checked 
herself, remembering her situation. 

“ It appears to me that you have done the lowesu 
trick I ever saw a man do even if they are niggers,” 
exclaimed the stranger ; and you* ought to be put in 
their place, you rascal, and whipped to death.” And 
here he put his hands in his pockets, and left the room. 

Talbot was in a moment heartily ashamed of his 


S50 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


act ; and would have given much to recall it ; but he 
resolved to brave it through ; and busting into a hoarse 
laugh, he followed the other from the room. 

Stamps remained behind, leaning against the chim- 
ney-piece. He had witnessed the act, and stood gazing 
on the floor. At length he looked up, and sighed 
deeply “ Well, all I wish is, that I had never had 
any thing to do with this — and with such a man.” 
Zoe heard him, and her heart fluttered with agitation. 
She turned her eyes toward him a moment, and trem- 
blingly exclaimed — “ Oh, sir, your heart is touched at 
our distress. Will you assist us?” 

“ My poor girl,” he replied, “ it is too late for me 
to do any thing now, if I felt inclined. When I went 
to Paris after you was the time.” After a pause, he 
continued, “ I once thought I could look unmoved on 
any thing; but when I saw that man go up to that 
poor child, and, like a malicious devil, cut off her hair ; 
and she, an uncomplaining angel, not to say a word, or 
make a motion, but look so sorrowful and pitiful, like 
a lamb that the butcher’s bloody hands are upon, that 
touched me ; and I repeat, that I am sorry tliat I ever 
lent my aid to any such a scheme ; and if there is a 
God, he will punish it.” 

“Oh, do not doubt it!” exclaimed Zoe; “do not 
doubt it ; there is a great and good Father above us 
all. Oh, do help us, and he will bless you.” 

“Tut, tut,” replied the woman; “keep still; and 
you,” she remarked to him ; “ you are a pretty fellow 
to stir up a rebellion among your friend’s property.” 

“ Come, Catherine 1” he said, “ you have been badly 
treated, but you have no feeling. You are a fit match 
for Talbot.” 


IHE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


85 - 


I glory in the depravity of human nature,’^ she 
replied, exultingly ; “ you are a milk-sop by the side 
of him. I was not depraved when a child; and I 
want to see misery for misery.” 

That may be a very good doctrine,” he remarked, 
“ but not one that is preached by good men.” 

There is nothing good in this world,” she said; 
‘^nothing! but what did you call that man Talbot 
for? Why harrow up my soul with that name that 
I hoped was dead? You call him Tolly. 

That is a nick-name ; but what do you mean ?” 

Oh, nothing! only that was the name of a happy 
family before ruin cauie into it.” 

“ Where?” 

“In the whitened sepulcher of Boston.” 

“ Did you live there ?” 

“ 1 did.” 

“ Is Catherine your real name ?” 

“ It was not.” 

“ What was it?” 

“ Nancy.” 

“ You are Talbot’s sister,” he exclaimed, as he 
rushed from the room. In a few moments Talbot 
entered. His face was pale, and his teeth \ ere 
clinched upon his whitened lips. 

“ Woman,” he said, sternly, approaching her, * I 
learn that your nan^e is Talbot.” 

“Yes.” 

“ You lived in Boston?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Nancy Talbot was your mother,” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Then you are my sister.” 


852 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


“ I suppose so.” 

“ I have found a nice relation.” 

“ And I.” 

“ No recrimination. I have played a horrid and 
unnatural part.” 

‘‘ When this scene is acted 1 shall die — the aveng. 
ing finger of God is upon youP 

“I believe you are more sinned against than sin- 
ning, Nancy.” He went hastily down stairs. 

There is no hope,” sighed Zoe. 

“None, none!” echoed Estelle. 

The day wore on. Zoe was sad and uncomplain- 
ing, Estelle in tears. 

Nancy, w^hom we will now call by her proper name, 
sal in a corner, with a handkerchief over her head. 
She was silent, and would reply to no questions. 

Estelle was nervous and excited ; and kept con- 
stantly going to the window, as if she was expecting 
some person. 

Talbot had been in and out several times. He had 
drank freely, and his face was flushed. He seemed to 
be losing his accustomed" sagacity. He would ap 
proach Nancy — gaze at her — seem to be moved — 
then, as if he would spurn her with his foot, turn off 
to Estelle. In going down the steps he mel 
Stamps. 

“ Tolly,” said he, “ I have urged you all along tc 
go through with this matter ; but I feel this morning 
as I never felt before. The poor things look so pitifu* 
— so helpless and unprotected — that I can not help 
feeling for them.” 

“Why, you are turning to be a soft, putty headed 
fool,” he replied, with a smile of contempt. “ What 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


S53 


has got into you, Billy? Are you going to join the 
church ? Are you afraid ?” 

“ Tolly, you know I am not. Where hard knocks 
are going, there I dl never flinch ; but I don’t like 
this.” 

“Your conversion is sudden,” replied Talbot, en- 
raged* 

“ So was Saul’s. I only wish mine had been 
earlier. Tolly, you may do what you please, but I ’ll 
be hanged if I move another peg in the affair.” 

“Well, I’ll carry it on myself, then,” he answered, 
turning off abruptly. “ Even the devil is against me,’' 
he muttered, as he walked slowly back. 

There was, as we have said, a number of negros 
belonging to a succession, to be sold at the Court 
House this day; and the sale had been extensively 
advertised. 

There were many planters and others in town, and 
more constantly coming in. 

The sale began. Many negros were sold, but it 
was the mere changing one home for another, only 
the transfer of a negro from one plantation to another, 
where the same rights and privileges were allowed 
them. Whole families were sold together, not sepa- 
rate, as some have averred. MaUy persons had come 
to the sale for the purpose of purchasing, and others 
for sight-seeing; many to compare notes on their 
crops, and take a friendly drink ; and some to elec- 
tioneer. But others had heard of the sale, and had 
come for the purpose of seeing the two beautiful 
Quadroon girls, whose fame had gone abroad. The 
gale proceeded, and, finally, the first crowd of negros 
were sold. The auctioneer now informed Talbot, who 
23 


354 


THE CEEOLE OBPHANS. 


stood by, that he must bring out his slaves. His heart 
beat fast, and he felt that if he could have crept out of 
it, he would have done so. “ Are they not my slaves ?” 
he muttered, as he walked toward the hotel; “at 
least, until some one takes the trouble of finding out 
the truth.’' 

It was not many minutes ere he entered the room. 
The girls sat hand in hand, with cheeks from which 
every vestige of color had fled. When they saw 
him Estelle uttered a scream, and both trembled vio- 
lently. 

“Will you agree to my terms now?” he asked, 
tauntingly. 

Zoe looked at her sister inquiringly. 

“ Non pas ; en Dieu est mon espoir^'' she said. 

Zoe turned to him, and replied, calmly, “ No, sir ; 
do your worst.” 

“ Then, come,” he answered ; “ the auction block is 
ready for you.” 

Both arose. Zoe laughed hysterically, but he seized 
her by the arm, and forced her forward. 

“You scorned me,” said he; “now comes my 
time.” 

Your revenge is terrible, Talbot; but do not tell 
how you treated the children of your benefactor, 
for it may be the means of preventing some other 
Ormond from helping another fellow-creature in dis- 
tress ; it will make men lose confidence in human 
nature. 

They left the room. Nancy sprung up from her 
seat; her eyes sparkled wildly, and she stretched 
forth her skinny hand in a menacing attitude. 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS, 


356 


You go to your deatlir' slie exclaimed, with the 
air of a prophetess. 

“ All are turning fools,” he answered ; while she stood 
gazing after them, as they slowly went down the stepa 

Stamps paced hurriedly back and forth in his own 
Toom ; he was in a state of violent agitation. 

Talbot walked first, with the papers proving th* 
girls to be of negro descent, and slaves, and his prop- 
erty; while they followed slowly, with downcast 
heads, behind him. 

When they came up to the stand, expressions of 
astonishment greeted them from the group assembled 
there, and murmurs of surprise were audible, mingled 
with those of distrust. 

“ These girls are white women !” shouted some one 
in the crowd. 

“ The owner is present,” answered the auctioneer ; 
“and here, in my hands, I hold his titles to the prop- 
erty.” 

“ Eead them I read them !” cried several. 

The auctioneer here read the certificates, which 
really proved the property to be his. 

“ It ’s a terrible shame !” cried some one. 

Talbci was exceedingly alarmed. 

“ There is no mistake about it,” said the auctioneer; 
“they are the children of a white man by a Quadroon 
woman ; it is all fair, but they ought to be free ; the 
papers are right. Come, up with the eldest one.” 

Zoe was lifted up on the stand, and made to pull off 
her bonnet. There stood the tenderly -raised girl, the 
refined and cultivated lady, exposed for public sale, 
and the blush of shame called to her cheek by the 
licentious and bold gaze of a hundred men. She 


856 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


could n Dt speak, her tongue grew thick, and her brain 
denied her eyes the power of performing their office ; 
a misty haze fell upon her senses ; the agony of ages 
was concentrated in a single moment of time. She 
was supported by the assistant auctioneer ; every thing 
was dark around her ; eager eyes were bent - on her as 
the auctioneer proceeded and descanted on her beauty 
and fine form. 

“ How much am I offered for this girl, only eight' 
een years old, and a full guaranty as to title ? One 
thousand dollars I only one thousand !’■ 

Eleven hundred was offered by a rakish-looking old 
fellow, who took snuff, and had an accent like a Lon- 
don cockney. 

As she composed herself, her eyes were bent on the 
crowd ; eagerly she sought for some friendly face, but 
although there were many noble countenances in the 
assembly, many of whom expressed sympathy, yet 
surprise at her extreme beauty kept them silent. 

Twelve, thirteen hundred dollars were successively 
bid — the poor girl gasped for breath. The bids were 
not animated ; they seemed to come reluctantly ; dis- 
content was manifest, and a low murmuring was dis- 
cernible. At first it was feeble, but it gathered strength 
as it proceeded. 

“ Fourteen hundred dollars !” cried a young planter, 
^ hose gaze was fixed on her. 

‘‘We will stop this sale !” cried one. 

“ She can not be a slave !” said another. 

“We can not allow this sale to proceed 1” exclaimed 
a tall, noble -looking man. 

“ Upon what ground do you enjoin it?’^ asked the 
auctione(ir. 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 357 

A faintness came over Zoe. 

“Because we believe there is rascality in the affair.” 

“ Fifteen hundred dollars ! A splendid sempstress, 
and fully guaranteed ; first-rate hairdresser. Fifteen 
hundred and fifty ! Worth double the money I” 

A pause followed. 

“Sixteen hundred dollars! Can read and write.” 

“ Stop 1 we will investigate this affair.” 

“ Here are the papers ; the owner is well known aa 
a wealthy planter.” 

“ Damn the papers ! damn the owner 1” 

The crowd now grew noisy, and it was plainly per- 
ceptible that there would be a riot. 

“ Order, gentlemen, order 1” 

Curses and loud exclamations were heard, and the 
tumult was so great as to preclude all possibility of the 
sale proceeding. 

“ Mr. Sheriff!” cried the auctioneer, “ I call on you 
to keep the peace.” 

“Damn the sheriff! If she is a slave, we will buy 
and free her,” shouted one. 

“Yes, yes !” 

“ Order ! order !” 

“Ask the girl some questions,” cried one. 

“ Yes, yes ; that ’s the ticket !” 

“ Are you a slave or not?” asked a gentleman. 

The poor girl trembled violently; she tried to 
speak ; her lips moved ; a deadly paleness came over 
her features, and she fell back in a death-like 
swoon. 

Just as the tumult was at its greatest height, the 
sound of horses’ feet were heard, and down the road 
came a band of men, enveloped in a cloud of dust 


358 


THE CREOEE ORPHANS. 


Tliey came thundering up, and into the crowd, which 
scattered right and left. 

Hold !” exclaimed a deep voice from among the 
horsemen. The speaker made his way to the stand, 
and leaped from his steed, while the crowd gave way, 
as the others followed his example. 

“ God has heard our prayer ! Oh, mother, you have 
done this cried Estelle, as she fell into the arms of 
Dr. Grant^for it was he. Upon the scaffold was 
Louis Lamotte ; he was supporting the insensible form 
of Zoe. 

“Dear Zoe I’’ he cried, pressing her convulsively to 
his bosom, “ awake ! awake I you are saved ! you are 
among your friends.” 

“ Where is the atrocious scoundrel ?” cried Mr. 
Herndon, seeking Talbot in the crowd. So absorbed 
had been every person present, that they had not 
given any attention to Talbot during this extraordin- 
ary scene. He was now sought, but was not to be 
seen. “ Help me to seek him, gentlemen,” said Mr. 
Herndon. “ When we have secured him, we will ex- 
plain it all.” 

The crowd now scattered through the town to searcl: 
for him. The excitement was intense, and maledic 
tions resounded from all sides. 

Talbot, however, was off. A negro stated that he 
had just come in town with a team, and that a man 
on horseback had passed him at full speed, going 
toward the river. A party of armed men instantly 
mounted, and started in pursuit. 

“Five thousand dollars,” cried Dr. Grant, “to the 
man who catches him alive.” 

The crowd spurred on, with a stern determination 


THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 


359 


fco wreak on him their vengeance. Mr. Herndon fol- 
lowed after them. He was bent upon capturing him 
alive, to inflict on him the most terrible punishment. 

Zoe had by this time recovered, and hid her fao6 
in Louis’s bosom. They were taken toward the hotel. 

‘‘ Where is the other villain?” asked Dr. Grant. 

“ He is at the hotel,” replied Zoe. 

Immediately a rush was made to prevent his escape. 
The building was surrounded, and several men went 
to the room. It was secured. They demanded admit- 
tance, but no answer was returned. A threat to break 
in the door was answered by a scornful laugh ; and 
then the wild gibbering of a female voice was heard, 
as if from a lunatic. 

Stamps was in the room, however. He had seen 
the horsemen when they passed the hotel, and he 
knew the game was up. He knew he had to die or be 
imprisoned, and he preferred the former. He would 
not yield. 

When the threat of opening the door by force was 
made, he remained silent ; but when blows began to 
resound through the house, he called out, “ Hold !” 
and sprang at once into the gallery which overlooked 
the street. The crowd received him with cheers of 
derision, and shouts of execration. 

He stood calmly, with his hands folded over his 
breast, and returned back the look of scorn fearlessly. 
If ever he did look nobly, it was then, as he there 
stood, confronting the angry crowd, cool and collected, 
gazing defiance below. 

'‘Shoot him!” cried one; and several pistols were 
drawn to execute the order ; but they were struck up, 
and exploded harmlessly in the air. Stamps moved 


S60 THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 

not, as the balls whistled past him, and struck the 
splinters from the weather-boarding behind him. He 
was calm, and a look of cold contempt was upon his 
lips. Not a muscle quivered, as the terrible cry rano? 
out from the maddened mob. 

“ He ’s game, at any rate,” said an old backwoods- 
man. 

“We will give him a warmer death than that I” 
cried Dr. Grant, now appearing from the hotel. 

“ Burn him I burn him alive 1” shouted a voice. 

“Hold, a moment!” cried Stamps. The angry 
crowd sank into a gentle murmur. 

“ I know very well that I will never leave here 
alive. I know that I am bound to die; but it will 
never be by your hands. My neck was never formed 
for a halter, or my form for the torch. Singly, I would 
cope with any one of you here ; but you are all against 
me.” 

“We ’ll see, we ’ll see 1” they cried. “ Eun up, and 
break open the door. We will prevent his escape that 
way.” 

“Wait! don’t give yourselves any trouble!” he 
exclaimed, with a sneering smile. Here he drew a 
pistol from his bosom, and, coolly cocking it, placed 
it to his head. He gazed upward for a moment ; his 
lips moved ; a cry of horror rang through the mass, 
and fifty arms were stretched out, as if to grasp the 
weapon. His finger moved convulsively, and a report 
was heard. He sprang upward, and then fell heavily 
on the floor. His brains were spattered against the 
wall. 

“ Behold the finger of God!” cried a female voice , 
und a maniac appeared by the side of the bloody corpse 


THE CREOLE ORPHAN’S. 


361 


A deep groan resounded through the crowd, and 
they silently dispersed, with a chill of horror at the 
tragedy. 

It will interest the reader to know how oui friend? 
happened to arrive so opportunely. 

Upon reaching New Orleans, they took the first 
boat up-stream, and arrived just two days after Talbot 
had taken the girls away, as has been detailed. Mr. 
Herndon sought Pierre, who informed him of the 
whole plot ; and the three at once left, post haste, in 
pursuit. They traveled all night, and only stopped to 
procure fresh horses and food. They thus arrived in 
time to prevent the devilish designs of Talbot. 

The reunited friends occupied the parlor of the 
hotel, and the sweet communion of souls soon relieved 
them of the horrible feeling which oppressed them. 
The events of the past years were not touched upon ; 
that was reserved for another time. They questioned 
the girls about their late adventures only enough to 
understand the conduct of Talbot. With reserve and 
diffidence Zoe hid every thing of a gross nature, 
but said enough to make them comprehend the de- 
signs of the man whom their father had taken by the 
hand. 

“The plan was well conceived,” said the doctor, 
* and came very nearly being well executed ; but they 
will overtake him doubtless, and I am afraid Herndon 
will kill him. You can never sufficiently thank Mr 
Herndon for the interest he has taken in you.” 

To return to Talbot. He had seen with intuitive 
ta.ct, long before the scene of the arrival, that matters 
were drawing to a culminating point. He saw that a 
scene was to be ena(3ted, and he did not wish to be 


362 


THE CREOLE OKTHANS 


present at the close of the drama ; he was perfectlj 
unmanned, and desired only to get away, leaving 
Stamps to settle the matter as best he might. 

Therefore, when the tumult was at its greatesi 
height, and he saw up the roact the dust rising as of 
a troop riding swiftly, the horrible and fearful truth 
flashed across his mind ; he mounted the nearest horse 
and sped swiftly away ; trees, fences, and fields were 
passed ; they shot by him like lightning. He urged 
the horse to the top of his speed. He strained his ears, 
and fancied he could hear the sounds of pursuit. 
Again he pressed his horse and left behind him his 
foes and his fears. He was returning by the same 
road which his pursuers came ; they had entered the 
town by different roads, and thus he luckily avoided 
a meeting. Again he pressed his jaded horse, and 
away he flew. He gazed behind him, no one was in 
sight — but his steed was flagging. He listened ; there 
were sounds of the rapid tread of horses, and the 
voices of men. There was no doubt of it — he was 
pursued. A cold sweat broke out over his body ; he 
clung to the mane of his horse ; he ventured to turn 
in his saddle; he could see them ; there they were, one, 
two, three, four — seven men, and riding as if for life; 
frantically he cheered his now nearly exhausted horse. 
There is no way of escaping — the road was long and 
straight, and a high fence bounded either side. He 
gives himself up for lost, but no ! Oh ! blessed sight ; 
the Mississippi is in view. He gazed at the waving 
trees on the opposite shore. Never did the children 
of Israel long to place the Eed Sea between Pbaroahh 
host and themselves and be in safety more fervently 
than did he long to be beyond the river. He coiUd 


THE CEEOLE ORPHANS. 


363 


hear their shouts, and in the front rank was Herndon ; 
they were near.ng him. 

With frenzy he pressed his horse — the river bank 
was reached. — his horse staggered and fell dead. It 
was the work of a moment to leap from his back, and 
jump into a small skiff which lay near the shore. He 
seized an oar, and shoved it out in the stream. 

As the current floated him away, the pursuing party 
reached the bank. 

How they cursed and raved. He tried with the ooe 
oar to pull further out, but was unused to manage 
a boat. The wind was very strong, and she shipped 
several waves as she fell into the trough. It was 
blowing up stream, and this made it much rougher 
than it would have been. 

Shoot him, before he gets too farl’’ said some one. 

‘‘ No, no I let us catch him alive, cried another. 

‘‘ .Hide down below, and get a skiff ; he has only got 
one oar, and can’t get away,” cried Herndon. 

A pistol was fired at him, and the ball made music 
close to his ears. Another pistol was fired, but the 
bullet passed far away. 

The wind now increased, and suddenly came around. 
The veering of the wind made the waves run very 
high ; and now a new danger awaited him. He was 
out of all fear of pursuit ; but a pistol ball might strike 
him. The worst danger now was the waves. The 
skiff shipped more and more water. She became 
heavy, and broke through the waves, instead of riding 
them. He jumped up in the boat, terrified, for he 
could not swim. With no oars to steady the boat, 
she was at every dash of the roughened water dancing 
like a feather, or down in a deep trough ; and every 


36J THE CREOLE ORPHANS. 

wave which broke over her side threw more water 
into her. She was half full. 

Another pistol was fired. A jell of agony broke 
from him ; the bullet had taken effect in his shoulder. 
He was standing — the oar was dropped — the blood 
spouted. At this moment a large wave lifted the boat 
and dashed her in the hollow. He lost his balance 
and fell overboard. He uttered a cry of despair as he 
sank ; but he arose, and the water was stained with 
blood. With terror in his strained eye-balls, he 
shrieked for help on shore. A laugh of derision was 
his only answer. He tried to grasp the boat, which, 
now lightened of his weight, danced merrily, just out 
of his reach. Several times did he almost grasp it; 
but he was as often foiled. His strength gave Avay. 
He turned a beseeching glance toward the shore. He 
uttered a last scream as he sunk, and the water gurgled 
around him. And thus he died, with the spirit of the 
injured Ormond hanging around him, and dragging 
him down, down, down. 

We have done. The next day, the party left foi 
the rightful home of the children of the noble Ormond ; 
and in a few^ weeks a happy bridal party filled the old 
parish church. The principals were Louis and Zoe. 

They took up their residence in the home of theii 
childhood. They revisited old scenes, and reveled in 
unforgotteii haunts. They passed many an hour by 
the side of the little stream from the lake, where, when 
children, they had gathered wild-flowers in spring; 
and beneath the shade of the old trees where they 
had reposed long, long ago ; but the voices of love 
and aflection were silenced. The old arms of the oaks 
waved again and welcomed them ; and under their 


THE CBEOLE ORPHANS. 


365 


shadow were two green hillocks of earth. The same 
summer wind breathed its melancholy tones through 
the branches, and filled the air with its leafy music, as 
in times of yore. There were the same blue clouds 
floating in the heavens ; and the same mocking-birds 
trilled out their exquisite notes ; but the sweet voices 
of parental tenderness were absent. They were not 
there. Those tones which had filled their hearts with 
joy were silent ; the pulses still — the silver cord was 
broken. 

But enough. 

Dr. Grant took up his residence with them. The 
hopes which were buried seemed again to revive, like 
the flowers of spring, and old feelings began to creep 
over him. Still, sorrow had swept with a hand of 
desolation over the strings of his soul ; and there were 
a few cords unstrung, as if from the cold blast of the 
North. Yet, he sat in the gallery with Louis, Zoe, 
and Estelle ; and often Mr. Herndon came over of an 
evening, to listen to him, with his Turkish pipe, as he 
entertained his auditors with tales of the marvelous 
and strange from other lands. 


THE SKB. 









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